#I might share the playlists but am not sure!

[wellhellothereem]

made some art for some playlists I am making on spotify based off of Pressure so I needed covers :3c I really enjoyed the colors I did on these ones!!!

[kendev]

first post..

[rebootgrimm]

So Trump Won, Now What?

I get it, we’re all worried. I am too. Above all else on this list, keep yourself safe. Don’t do anything stupid, especially without a plan.

Find Ways to Cope

With the election results, it’s understandable to be afraid. Do whatever you need to (within reasonable amounts. please do not overdose) to comfort yourself.

Take off of school / work if possible to rest. If you don’t have money saved up to be able to take a day off, that’s completely understandable. If you can’t take a day off school for whatever reason (like me. I’m writing this while being driven to school) then that’s okay as well.

Eat comfort foods. You can take a cheat day if you’re on a diet today, you deserve it.

Do things that help you calm down. Some things can include: drawing, crafts, listening to music (punk playlist I helped create here if that might help), knitting, etc. Whatever it is, do it. 

Cry. It’s understandable to want to cry after this. I felt like crying too.

Prepare For the Worst

I hate to say it, but it’s likely that shits going to hit the fan once Trump hits office. Here’s some ideas on what to do.

Preserve any media that MAGA might try and get rid of. For me that’s going to be writing things online down into a notebook and preserving punk songs (likely onto a cassette tape just so I have it tangibly), for Janet next door that might be pirating. Buying any books that might get destroyed is a good idea as well, so that way it still exists, despite censorship.

Stock up on physical items that may end up being destroyed / not being sold anymore. Books are a good idea to have since book censorship has existed as long as dictatorship has. Another idea is over the counter birth control since it likely won’t be allowed to be sold anymore. If anyone has any more ideas, put them in the reblogs / comments.

Stock up on money. I have a secret stash that has about $200 in physical dollars hidden in it, and that’s just counting dollars. 

Build Community

This goes hand-in-hand with prepare for the worst, but I felt like it deserved its own section.

Make a garden. It may be a bit late to do that right now due to it being winter in the U.S., but you can always prepare for one. Food prices will likely go up, so it’s good to have plans for free food.

I’m not sure what to title this bullet point, but with prices for everything likely going to go up, it’s great if there’s people who can provide things like clothes or anything else one might need.

Even without any of the other two things, having community in general is good. Even if that’s just a group of friends who you sit with at the lunch table and talk with, it’s still a community. If you aren’t able to make one in real life for whatever reason, then make one online.

If anyone has anything at all to add on then please put it in the reblogs (preferred) or comments. I’m not usually one to ask for reblogs, but I’d argue that this is really important and needs to be shared. Remember that your existence is resistance and that it’s always okay to punch a Nazi.

@our-trans-punk-experience @liberalsarecool

[katsu28]

ooooo “Making the other person a Spotify playlist with songs that remind them of their relationship and growth” for Lando???

thank you for requesting! hope you like this one <3

lando norris x reader, 1.3k, request something from here!

There aren’t many times you can get Lando all to yourself. His job comes with many responsibilities, as does your own. You understand the time and hard work it takes to do what he does day after day, week after week, and you like to think the two of you have found a way to balance it all. Dinners together whenever you can, texting and calling between meetings; you even have a shared calendar on your phones to keep track of your hectic schedules. 

Racing takes precedence on most weekends, of course. Some of them you’re able to attend, but lately things have been getting busy at your workplace nowadays, which means you’ve been working weekends too. Weekdays are slim pickings as well, with all of the traveling and training and things you have to get done as well. 

With all that’s been happening lately, you haven’t been able to spend nearly enough time with Lando. Late evenings at work, long training days—everything seems like it’s been piling up until the only time you really get to spend with each other on days that he’s home is right before bed. And even then, it isn’t long before one of you inevitably falls asleep first. 

Which is why when you miraculously find yourself and Lando with a totally empty schedule today, free of any work related commitments for either of you, you’re over the moon. He suggests a day trip up the coast, just the two of you and the open road. Honestly, you don’t even care where you go, you just want to be with him. 

You’d think he’d be sick of driving given what he does for a living, but he just presses a kiss to your temple, saying that driving with you is something he’d never tire of. 

That’s how you end up here, sitting comfortably in the passenger seat of Lando’s Miura, fingers intertwined with his as he cruises down the coastline. Crystal clear water dotted with boats and even bluer skies on one side, beautiful scenery on the other, and the man you love sitting right next to you—what more could you ask for?

“Like what you see?” Lando’s teasing voice draws you out of your thoughts, and you refocus to see him still with his eyes on the winding highway ahead. But he’s grinning rather smugly, a grin that only grows bigger when you huff. “It’s alright, you can stare at me all you want. I know how sexy you think I am.” 

“That’s bold. Maybe I’m admiring the view.” 

“Yeah, and the view is called my carved-by-the-gods side profile.” 

“Someone’s a tad self absorbed. You’re voted top three hottest drivers on the grid one time and you start getting a big head, hm?” 

“I beat out Carlos, baby! Carlos fucking Sainz! You’ve seen the man, do you know how that makes me feel?” 

“Is there something I should be worried about, Lan? Are you going to leave me for Carlos?”

Lando snorts, aiming a brief but still effective skeptically arched brow at you. “Please, if I was gonna leave you for Carlos, I would’ve done it already.” 

“Oh, cheers. That’s reassuring.” 

“Happy to help.” 

“Can I play some music? I need to drown out the sound of your complete and utter betrayal.” You grumble, slouching in your seat with crossed arms. Lando laughs and nods, passing you his phone. He knows you’re just being fussy for the dramatics of it all.

You scroll through his Spotify playlists in search of something that looks interesting, but one in particular instantly catches your eye. Labeled “For my love” with an absurd amount of heart emojis after, you can’t help but feel like maybe, just perhaps this one might be for you. Or for Carlos, but you’re ninety percent sure it's you. 

Next to you, Lando inhales sharply through his teeth like he’s just remembered something, hand shooting out blindly. “Fuck, wait, hang on—” 

“Lando…” You say, only slightly teasing. All previous betrayal is instantly forgotten. You shift so his wiggling fingers can’t reach the phone, giggling a bit at the garbled noise that escapes from his mouth. He’s obviously figured out what you’ve just come across. “What’s this?” 

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” He sighs, cheeks already flushing pink. “It was meant to be a surprise.” 

“You made a playlist for me?” 

“Well, yeah. It’s sort of embarrassing.” He mumbles, suddenly sounding bashful.

“Oh come on, don’t get all shy on me now.” 

“Alright, fine! At first it was for me. Just songs I thought you’d like, and I’d listen to it all the times I was away and we couldn’t talk. Or if I was nervous before a race and started spiraling. And then…it just turned into songs that made me think about you. Made me think about us.” 

“There’s hundreds of songs on here, how did you even—when did you even start making this?” 

Lando swallows hard, knuckles flexing on the steering wheel.

“Honestly? The day we met. Call me a weirdo, but from the moment I saw you I knew you were it for me. Took both of us a while to get our shit together, but I never stopped believing it.” He says softly, hastening a glance over at you. He smiles and shrugs, reaching out to thread his fingers through yours once again. “And the songs…I dunno, they’re just my way of remembering how we got here. I meant to save it for our next big anniversary, but you’ve mucked it all up by being nosy, so now the cat’s out of the bag!” 

“You’re so fucking cute, babe,” You coo, leaning across the center console to press a smattering of kisses to the side of his heated face. “You made a whole playlist for me and listened to it when you missed me? That’s the cutest thing anyone’s ever done, you sap.” 

“Yeah, alright. You can shut up about it now,” He grumbles, but he still looks pleased. “Have a look through it. I think I’ve got some good ones on there.” 

The more you scroll through the list of songs, the more you feel like your heart is about to burst out of your chest. It mixes your music taste and his, and in a way, it feels very representative of not only who you are as individuals, but who you are with each other.  

It reads like a letter to you, to your relationship. To who you were back then and who you are now, who you’ve grown into together. 

There’s no doubt that in the years you’ve known each other, you’ve both changed. You’ve had good times and not so good ones too, but one thing that’s always remained is each other. From friendship, to teetering on something a little more, to finally finding love with one another, Lando has been the most unwavering constant in your life. You think that deep down, it was something you already knew, even from the first time you’d met him. 

“I’m gonna fucking cry, Lando,” You whine, emotion seeping into your words.

“Why? Is it bad? Is it too much?” He looks worried, but he can’t exactly take his eyes off the road to see why you’ve had the reaction you did.

“No, no. It’s perfect.” 

His shoulders sag in relief, and the smile returns to his face. “Oh. You like it?” 

“I love it.” You lift your joined hands, pressing a kiss to his knuckles that has him positively beaming with adoration. It goes without saying, but you truly don’t think you could love a person any more than you love Lando. You don’t want to, because he’s it for you. 

“You know what else?” He hums his piqued interest, likely expecting more praise. “Carlos can suck it. I got a playlist, what did he get? Absolutely nothing!” 

“For fuck’s sake, I was kidding!” 

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post a new fic :)

[thedensworld]

Stupid Cupid | K.Mg

Pairing: Mingyu x Reader

Genre: fluff, love at first sight

Summary: You must be the reason why he's been nervous for tonight's event. There must be something that Cupid has been doing.

Author note: Happy birthday to the charming man, Kim Mingyu! You deserve the world, and I can't wait to see your amazing work and improvements in the future. Thanks to your mother for raising such a gentleman and kind son. Thank you for being born and setting such high standards for men. I can't stop falling in love with you. Every girl needs man like you mingooooooos🥰

Mingyu raised his hand and placed it on his chest, exhaling deeply, which caught the attention of his diligent manager who was navigating them to the venue. Despite Mingyu's seasoned experience with fashion events on an international level, his heart seemed to thump twice as fast for this particular occasion.

"You nervous?!" His manager's surprised tone rang out, to which Mingyu could only chuckle, adjusting his suit and shirt sleeves.

Mingyu shot his manager a look via the rearview mirror that said, "Don't ask me that question. Because I am, and I'm trying hard to pretend I'm not."

Closing his eyes, Mingyu silently thanked his manager when he switched the playlist to a more calming one, silently praying that his heart would follow suit and calm down too.

Once Mingyu entered the event, nothing particularly eventful occurred besides the incessant flashlights popping here and there as he made his way into the venue. Guided by professionals, much like previous events he'd attended, Mingyu found himself experiencing the same routine. Yet, despite the familiarity, his heart continued to pound.

"Mingyu, can we take a photo?" a voice interrupted his tour of the venue, and Mingyu nodded, obliging the request before taking a moment to rest and engage with other guests.

Offering his best smile, Mingyu's attention suddenly shifted as he noticed a figure in a stunning red wine bodycon dress making her way towards him. Though the person thanked Mingyu, he found himself momentarily speechless, captivated by her confidence and the radiant smile she shared while conversing with the director.

"This is Kim Mingyu, you might already know him," the director said, introducing Mingyu to you.

Suddenly, Mingyu felt like he was malfunctioning, barely able to raise his hand to accept the handshake as the world seemed to slow down. His focus was stolen away by your face, your eyes, and the charming sound of your voice as you introduced yourself. He knew you, but he hadn't realized just how attractive you were.

"Y/n and I worked together while she was filming her last movie," the director continued.

Mingyu barely heard the director's words, offering only nods as his senses were consumed by your presence. You looked breathtaking in person, and he didn't mean that you were unphotogenic.

"Yeah... I shot an ad with Seungcheol, Mingyu's member," you added.

Mingyu cursed Seungcheol in his head for gatekeeping you from him all this time.

"I'll let you two talk, I have to go," the director said, excusing himself.

Mingyu and you bowed to the director before facing each other awkwardly. Mingyu couldn't believe this was happening; he felt foolish for acting so awkwardly in front of a girl. He always knew how to handle himself in front of fans, but now he was frozen.

"Seungcheol talked a lot about you," you said, breaking the silence and starting a conversation.

Mingyu nodded, trying to hide the embarrassment coloring his face. "Is it a good thing?"

"Sure, he spoke highly of you. He even said you're his favorite," you replied, offering a reassuring smile.

Mingyu silently rescinded the curse he had mentally placed on Seungcheol. But now he couldn't help but wonder about the nature of your relationship with Seungcheol. Had you two grown close? Were you something more than friends? Mingyu's mind raced with questions.

"Did you two meet regularly?" he asked, attempting to subtly probe for information without breaking the bro code.

You tilted your head before shaking it. "Not really. We met a few times, but we both got busy. He's like a brother,, really."

Mingyu raised his brows, recalling something Seungcheol had mentioned about having a new sister. It must have been you.

Mingyu felt a wave of relief wash over him at your response, glad to hear that there wasn't anything romantic between you and Seungcheol. He couldn't deny the flutter of hope that sparked within him at the realization that there might be a chance for him to get to know you better.

"I watched your movie, Exhuma. Amazing," Mingyu complimented your acting, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

You looked genuinely surprised by the praise. "Thanks. It means a lot to me," you replied, a hint of humility in your tone.

"Actually, one of our members, Vernon, watched it twice just in case he missed anything," Mingyu added, a smile playing on his lips as he shared the anecdote.

You gasped in disbelief, clearly touched by the dedication. "Please convey my gratitude to him," you said earnestly.

Mingyu nodded, making a mental note to pass along your message to Vernon. "Sure," he replied with a warm smile.

"Y/n... Can we take a photo with you?" Two people approached both you and Mingyu. Mingyu gestured for them to take a photo with you, and you smiled and nodded, posing for the camera. Your wavy hair danced in the air as the photo was taken.

Once they left, Mingyu invited you to join him in watching the fireworks, a highlight of the event. He positioned you in front of him, standing closely behind you, almost touching your back. As the night grew colder in the outdoor venue, Mingyu removed his suit jacket and gently draped it over your shoulders. You looked surprised by the gesture, but a warm smile spread across your face as Mingyu gave you an assuring nod.

The tender moment between them was accompanied by the dazzling display of fireworks overhead, casting a magical glow over the scene as Mingyu's gesture of chivalry warmed both your bodies and hearts amidst the chilly night air.

"The fireworks matched the music," Mingyu whispered to you, and you nodded in agreement, turning your head to smile at him.

"This event has a great playlist, by the way," you remarked playfully, eliciting a soft laugh from Mingyu.

"The DJ deserves a raise," Mingyu joked, and you nodded in agreement, sharing a lighthearted moment.

As you two conversed, people nearby couldn't help but take pictures and record videos of the charming interaction between you and Mingyu. The ease and comfort between you both were evident, drawing the attention of the media and onlookers alike.

Mingyu looked genuinely at ease with you by his side, and vice versa, creating a captivating dynamic that sparked interest and admiration from those around them.

The aftermath of that night buzzed with chatter and speculation. Whispers circulated about how Mingyu looked at you adoringly, and how your presence seemed to perfectly complement his energy. Yet, amidst the gossip and rumors, only three individuals truly understood the dynamics at play: Mingyu, you, and probably Seungcheol.

Together, you shared a secret bond, hidden from the prying eyes of the world. Mingyu's affectionate glances and your seamless connection spoke volumes, but the truth remained known only to those within the inner circle.

Perhaps it was the work of Cupid, orchestrating the fateful encounter between you and Mingyu that night, weaving together the threads of destiny in a tapestry of love and intrigue. Whatever the case, the memories of that enchanted evening lingered, etched into the hearts of those who were fortunate enough to witness the magic unfold.

*

Scoups hyung: Mingyu!

Scoups hyung: You might be my favorite, but I won't let you hit on my Y/n! She's like a sister to me.

Scoups hyung: Okay, I mean, you might have a chance if Y/n says okay. But I won't let you off that easily!

Scoups hyung: I saw that cheap stare you threw at her!

Scoups hyung: We better meet after this, and you buy me soju!

Scoups hyung: I'm not kidding, okay!

Mingyu: Hyung, chill! Okay, let's meet. But not on Saturday, I have a date with Y/n already ;)

Scoups hyung: You little—

*

Kim Mingyu of SEVENTEEN Confirms Relationship with Actress Ji Y/n

In a surprising turn of events, Kim Mingyu, a beloved member of the popular K-pop group SEVENTEEN, has confirmed his relationship with actress Ji Y/n. The dating news has been officially acknowledged by both Pledis Entertainment, Kim Mingyu's label, and BHEntertainment, Ji Y/n's label, putting an end to speculations surrounding the couple.

In their joint announcement, Pledis Entertainment and BHEntertainment expressed their support for Kim Mingyu and Ji Y/n, emphasizing that the two artists deserve happiness in their personal lives. The agencies also urged fans to continue showing love and support for the couple as they embark on this new chapter together.

Fans of SEVENTEEN and Ji Y/n have flooded social media with messages of encouragement and well-wishes for the newly revealed couple. Many have expressed their delight at seeing their favorite idols find love and happiness, pledging unwavering support for their relationship. Fans are eagerly anticipating any updates or glimpses into their blossoming romance.

The end. Delulu is soluluヾ(＾-＾)ノ

[domjaehyun]

SURVIVING NO NUT NOVEMBER (L.MK, L.DH)

MEMBERS. mark lee x fem!reader x lee haechan

GENRE. smut…that’s it… some humor

WORD COUNT. 28.8k (i’m not apologizing and you can’t make me)

CONTENTS. weed consumption, haechan favoritism (it’s me. what did you expect), explicit smut (slightest of dubcon, chasing kink (? y’all idk), quite a bit of edging/orgasm denial (giving), dry humping, handjobs, blowjobs, cunnilingus, finger sucking, bit of spit kink, unprotected sex, creampie, double penetration, anal, rimming (receiving), overstimulation (receiving), praise kink, some slight degradation, bratty switch!reader, bratty switch!haechan, needy switch!mark, haechan really likes calling you “puppy,” i think that’s it)

NOTES. hi :3 thank you to my love @ncteez​ (hon) for beta reading this for me! i’m on my mark & haechan monster cock agenda thank you very much :)

PLAYLIST. video games - sun // seduce - russ // pth - emanuel

Sunday, November 1st. 

“As usual, I think you’re full of it.” Lia sizes up Haechan, her scrutinizing stare so chilling that it affects you as an innocent bystander simply sitting next to Haechan.

“I’m not,” Haechan fiercely defends himself, jabbing his thumb into his chest emphatically. “I totally did take three edibles and, yes, I did see God! She was not pleased with me,” Haechan finishes in a mumble, scratching the back of his neck anxiously.

“What makes you think you saw God and not, like, her secretary angel or something?” Jaemin asks with a brow raised, and Haechan grimaces.

“What, am I not important or special enough to meet Miss God herself? I got some divine being several rungs down the holy corporate ladder?” Haechan counters, and the silence that falls over your table is deafening. “Wow.”

“Sorry,” Yeji says, shrugging. “It’s not personal.”

“Yeah, well, it sure feels personal,” Haechan grouches. Turning to you, he shakes your arm and whines loudly, saying, “You think I’m important and special, right?”

You look at his plate of food with scheming eyes. “Give me some of your fries and I’ll agree with you.”

“Agree with me and I’ll give you some of my fries,” he says, turning it back on you, and you pause to think. As if to make his deal even more appealing, Haechan holds up a forkful of fries, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Screw you guys, Haechan is definitely important and special enough to meet God after tripping too hard on edibles.” you say, scowling at every member sitting at the table for good measure. You look at Haechan, waiting for his approval, and he nods with a pleased smile, placing his hand under the fork to catch anything that might fall.

“Say ‘ah,’” Haechan coos, bringing the forkful to your mouth. You roll your eyes in amusement but oblige, letting Haechan feed you the fries. 

“Thank you,” you say with a smile, which he returns. 

“You’re welcome, baby,” he replies casually, watching in satisfaction out of the corner of his eye as you stiffen in surprise, your mind buffering for several moments before it starts working again. He chuckles and nudges you with his knee under the table secretly before resuming his eating. 

“If you two are finished,” Lia says pointedly, and your cheeks warm as you look at her sheepishly. “I was going to say that in honor of November starting today, there’s a challenge I wanna share.”

“Share, please,” you say quickly, eager to switch the attention to someone else. 

“It’s called November, in which I try to make it through every day of November,” she announces proudly, and you point an accusing finger across the table at her.

“You stole that off of Twitter!” you exclaim, and she rolls her eyes.

“I didn’t say it was my challenge,” she replies, and you narrow your eyes suspiciously. 

“I’m onto you.” 

“Okay,” Lia says, dismissive yet amused. 

“I think we should try a monthly challenge,” Yeji suggests. “There’s No Shave November, National Novel Writing Month, No Nut November—”

“Ha!” Jaemin snorts in amusement. “Some of us couldn’t handle No Nut November.” He casts Haechan a side look which is not unnoticed.

Haechan huffs. “Why are you looking at me? I can totally do No Nut November.”

“Sure, you can,” you say, patting his hand comfortingly. 

“Why do you sound like you don’t believe me?” Haechan frowns. 

“Probably because I don’t,” you reply simply, and Jeno snickers into his food.

“You know what?” Jeno puts his fork down and rubs his hands together. “If you can make it through No Nut November, I will give you my entire weed stash.”

Haechan’s brows raise in surprise. “Damn. You really don’t think I can do it.”

“Nope.” Jeno replies, and Haechan huffs.

“You’re on—but I get to pick a buddy,” he proposes, and Jeno shrugs. 

“Sure. I don’t think anyone at this table is willing to go in on that challenge, though.”

When everyone at the table murmurs some sort of agreement, Haechan’s face lights up, visibly getting an idea, and he pulls his phone out, tapping it a couple of times before setting it on the table. 

“Hello?” Mark’s whispering voice comes in through the speaker, and you and Jaemin share a skeptical look.

“Mark?” Lia laughs, begrudgingly falling silent when Haechan shushes her.

“Mark, do you wanna do No Nut November with me this month?” Haechan asks hopefully.

“Hell, no,” Mark’s reply comes out clear as day, making everyone but Haechan stifle a laugh. 

“Aw, come on! Jeno’s gonna give us his entire weed stash if we do it,” Haechan coaxes in a sing-song voice. 

“No way,” Mark whispers back. Several moments pass, everyone at the table growing antsy, until Mark speaks again. “Fine. I’m in.”

“Great!” Haechan says all too loudly. “We’re gonna rock this challenge.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mark replies distractedly. “I gotta go now—I’m in class.”

“Oh, that’s why you were whispering—”

“Whispering, yeah. See you later, dude.” Mark murmurs hurriedly before the phone beeps to signal the end of the call.

“Well, that settles it,” Haechan says happily. “Jeno, get ready to kiss your stash of weed goodbye.”

“Oh, please,” Jaemin snorts derisively, “I bet you’ll be caving on day three.”

“Nope,” Haechan retorts, sticking out his tongue for good measure. “Nothing will fuck with me this month. As a matter of fact—”

“Haechan, don’t you have class, like, right now?” you cut him off, and he looks at the time, his eyes widening. 

Stuffing forkfuls of food in his mouth, Haechan stands up from the table and waves goodbye before rushing off with his plate.

There’s a silence that passes before Lia speaks. “So I feel like it goes without saying that we, as their closest friends, legally have to fuck with them all of November.” 

“‘We?’” Jeno raises his eyebrows in surprise and shakes his head. “I’m not turning them on.”

“Neither am I,” Jaemin says through his mouthful of sandwich. “Unless everyone gets real cool about a lot of things.”

“That also should have gone without saying, geniuses.” Lia rolls her eyes, and Jeno furrows his brows, narrowing his eyes before putting another forkful of ramen in his mouth and chewing. Turning to look at you, Lia continues, “I thought it was obvious that we’d collectively be fucking with them through one person.”

You slowly stop chewing. “Why are you looking at me?” You look at each of your friends. “Why are all of you looking at me?”

“You’re the only one with a weird enough relationship with them where it’d be normal for you to flirt with each other,” Yeji explains. 

“Our relationship isn’t weird,” you say defensively, blanching at the unimpressed look Jaemin shoots you.

“Remember when you first met Haechan and he practically coughed up a lung trying to do that huge bong hit to impress you?” Jaemin reminds you, and you snicker as you think back.

“Yeah, that was funny,” you chuckle, and Lia sits forward.

“Or one of the first times we all hung out and watched the guys play video games and Mark kept dying because he was too busy looking at you?” she recalls, and you purse your lips.

“Okay, maybe it’s a little different from your average friendship,” you mumble reluctantly.

Jeno swallows his mouthful of noodles and points at you with his fork. “Didn’t Haechan call you ‘baby’ earlier?”

“Yeah, and Mark called you ‘babe’ the other day.” Yeji contributes, and you sigh, rubbing your temples. 

“I mean, that was by accident, but I think I get it—” 

“Haechan literally offered you food off of his fork today—” 

“I get it!”

“Wait, that happened?” Lia asks, baffled, and Jeno nods.

“Yeah, he even said ‘open up’ when he put the food in her mouth.”

“Y’all.” You’re losing your patience.

“She actually took—wait, you actually took the food?” Yeji exclaims, and you bang the table with your hand to get their attention.

“I think,” you say slowly, “that I have heard enough about my questionable friendships with Mark and Haechan.” You look at Lia, who’s got the beginnings of a smirk on her lips. “What do I do?”

“Do anything and everything to get them to break during November.” Lia shrugs as if it was obvious.

“What if I can’t get them to cave?” You frown, doubtful of your abilities, and Jaemin waves a hand dismissively.

“That’s okay. As long as they experience mental turmoil and anguish, I’m satisfied.”

“Yeah, blue-ball them as hard as you can.” Jeno chimes in, and you look at each of your friends with a concerned expression.

“What kind of friend group is this?” you mumble, aghast, and Yeji snickers, leaning across the table to pat your hand reassuringly.

“One that enjoys chaos and mischief,” she answers, and you nod slowly.

“That is what I thought I signed up for.” 

“Anyway, you’ll be good at this; I feel like you already know how to flirt with them,” Yeji assures you, and you purse your lips. 

“I do,” you agree. “I’ll make it happen.”

“That’s my girl!” Lia cheers, and you snicker.

“This should be fun.”

 Thursday, November 5th.

“Hey!” Jeno greets you after he opens the door.

“Hi, hi,” you chirp as you enter the apartment and remove your shoes by the door. Jeno shuts the door behind you and takes your bag from your arm before throwing an arm over your shoulder and leading you into the living room. “Hey, guys!” 

Mark barely looks up from his laptop to wave at you, doing a double take before hurriedly sitting up straight and running a hand through his hair.

“Hey!” Mark sounds mildly panicked, looking over your shoulder at Jeno with a pointed stare. “Jeno didn’t tell us you were coming.”

“Sorry,” you and Jeno say, looking at each other. “Must have forgotten.” Jeno finishes with a shrug.

“It’s, uh, no problem, I’m just gonna grab something from my room.” Mark says as casually as possible, standing up and speed walking down the hall.

“That went well,” you murmur, amused, and Jeno nods with his eyes crinkled in delight. “I didn’t even flirt yet.”

Haechan comes into the room from around the corner in the hallway, immersed in something on his phone. “Someone dare me to eat that whole can of spray cheese in the fridge.” 

“I dare you,” you snicker. Haechan’s head snaps up to look at you in bewilderment, eyes comically wide as he lets out an amusingly high-pitched screech. 

“You—when did you—who invited—I mean, not that you can’t come over, but—Jeno didn’t say—” Haechan splutters as you watch him with raised eyebrows before stopping short and standing up straighter. “I wasn’t really gonna eat all the spray cheese, by the way,” Haechan laughs awkwardly. 

“Shame,” you muse, looking at him with a wry smile. “Would’ve been really hot, I think.”

Haechan pauses, regarding you skeptically. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you hum with a nod. “It’d be like chugging a beer, but harder, y’know? Pretty impressive.”

“I mean, I can still do it—” Haechan says quickly, pointing at the kitchen as he walks towards it, and Jeno snorts from beside you.

“Haechan?” you call.

“Yeah?”

“I’m kidding.” 

“Oh,” he mumbles. 

“Yeah,” you say, nodding as you walk up to him. You pat his chest gently and smile at him. “I’m not really into kissing dudes who taste like spray cheese.”

“Oh, that’s fair—wait a minute.” Haechan freezes, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” You look right back at him with a playfully challenging expression, and the awkwardness fades away from him almost immediately as his lips curl into a smirk.

“So you think about kissing me?”

“Maybe.” Smiling secretively, you watch as his gaze drifts down to your lips. You give him a moment to recover and look back up at you but his gaze doesn’t waver, so you clear your throat pointedly. “Are you done thinking about kissing me?”

“No, gimme another minute.” Haechan breathes out, and you laugh, pushing him back gently.

“I came here to study, not flirt,” you say, lying through your teeth. He grins, wiggling his brows as he walks backwards towards the kitchen.

“You can multitask.”

“Haechan, go eat your spray cheese or something.” You roll your eyes in amusement and turn back to Jeno, reaching out for your bag. He hands it to you and footsteps sound out from down the hall, making you both turn your heads towards the noise.

Mark comes back into the living room wearing a different outfit entirely and with his hair looking considerably better, as if he’d frantically fixed it before returning.

You and Jeno share an amused look as secretly as possible as Mark sits back down in his spot on the couch, resuming his work on his laptop as if nothing’s changed. You walk over to where he sits and point at the spot next to him. 

“Can I sit here?”

“Uh—yeah, sure,” Mark mumbles in mild surprise, scooting over and pushing his stuff over on the coffee table to make room for you.

“Thank you, Mark,” you say with a sweet smile, and he nods, eyeing you as you sit right next to him. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows nervously, and you barely hide your amused chuckle. 

Haechan comes out of the kitchen with a box of Pocky sticks, hesitating as he spots you sitting next to Mark. You pretend not to notice him or the way he narrows his eyes, instead focusing on pulling your laptop out of your bag. 

You keep pretending to be immersed in turning on your laptop as Mark looks up at Haechan, the two of them exchanging an unreadable look in your peripheral vision before Mark leans back on the couch, casually placing his arm behind you on the cushion as if resting on your shoulders. 

You fight down the smirk that threatens to appear on your face as Haechan audibly huffs and walks over to you both, plopping down next to you unceremoniously.

“Hi,” Haechan says with a smile, and you finally turn to look at him as you lean back to rest against Mark’s arm. 

“Hi,” you reply, matching his expression, and Jeno clears his throat awkwardly, apparently no longer wanting to watch you three in silence.

“I’m gonna go grab my stuff and wake up Jaemin.” Jeno informs you three, and you all give some sort of acknowledgement as he heads out of the room. As he walks away, he shoots you a knowing look and grins before disappearing down the hall for what you know to be quite a while—enough time to mess with Haechan and Mark.

“It’s hot in here,” you complain, and Mark looks at you sympathetically.

“Yeah, our heating is stuck in the on setting,” Mark mumbles, and you frown, nodding in understanding.

You already knew that. Jeno told you before you came over, which is why you have something up your sleeve.

“Can one of you help me for a second? Actually both of you.” You sit forward slightly and both of them mirror you, looking at each other briefly before back at you. “I wanna take my hoodie off.” You cross your arms to grab the bottom of it, starting to pull it up and over your head. “Hold my shirt down so I don’t flash you.”

“I mean, I’m not opposed—”

“Haechan, just do it,” you huff, and he sighs dramatically before he and Mark hold the bottom of your undershirt down and you pull your hoodie off, revealing your casual tank top underneath. “Thank you!”

“No problem,” Mark mumbles, struggling to hide the way his eyes are drinking in the sight of your now exposed skin. Haechan, however, experiences not even a modicum of shame as he eyes you. You smile before yawning and stretching your arms over your head, letting out a small moan of relief that makes both of them stiffen and peek at you out of the corner of their eye.

You may have felt a little ridiculous when you hammed up the moan, but the response is so rewarding that you no longer regret it.

“You, uh, want some?” Haechan mumbles awkwardly, practically shoving the box of Pocky in your face.

“Sure,” you reply easily, and some of the confidence returns to his demeanor as he takes one out and puts the end between his lips. “You’re kidding.”

He shakes his head, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

You roll your eyes in amusement, not bothering to hide your smile as you lean closer and pinch the chocolate-covered end of the stick, breaking it off and biting it with a teasing grin.

Mark chuckles in amusement as Haechan glares at you petulantly, sitting back against the couch in a huff. 

“Aw, don’t be upset, Haechan.” You cup his chin and mirror his frown. “Even though you’re cute when you pout.”

“I am?” he asks with a small amused smile, and you nod.

“You are.”

Mark clears his throat pointedly from beside you, carrying on with working on something on his laptop, and you shift your attention to him as he continues to attempt to conceal his jealousy.

“Mark, you’re cute, too,” you assure him with a small laugh.

He looks over at you, feigning nonchalance, and chuckles dismissively.

“I’m not cute, dude.”

“You’re right,” you muse, leaning against him for a moment as you think. “How about ‘handsome?’”

“Handsome, uh—handsome works,” Mark agrees, a small smile on his lips. 

“Okay, handsome.”

“What about me?” Haechan complains, waving his arms in what looks suspiciously like the beginnings of a temper tantrum.

“She already called you cute,” Mark mumbles under his breath.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t get called ‘handsome.’” Haechan bites back.

“You’re acting like a spoiled child.”

“That’s rich coming from Mr. ‘I’m Going to Clear My Throat for Attention.’”

“That’s a stupid comeback and you know it.”

“Guys.” You look between them with growing amusement.

“What’s stupid is the fact that you won’t ask for the attention you clearly want.”

“Haechan!” You look at him in surprise.

“I’d rather that than whine and stomp my feet like an immature brat.” Mark counters, and your eyes widen even more.

“Mark!”

“I will piss in your bed.” Haechan threatens, and you decide the fighting has gone on for long enough. 

“You know what? I’m going home,” you sigh, and both their heads snap to look at you.

“Why?” Haechan asks, clearly objecting.

“You just got here!” Mark exclaims.

You gesture between the two of them. “Your fighting is making me uncomfortable.” You frown.

“We’ll stop,” Mark assures you, and Haechan nods in agreement.

You look at both of them skeptically before sighing. “Fine.”

You three fall into silence as Mark works, you pretend to work, and Haechan just stares at his phone while munching idly on Pocky sticks.

You decide to break the silence and mess with them a little bit.

“You know, I have a confession,” you say, not looking at either of them. “It was actually kind of hot to have two guys fighting over me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Haechan muses, locking his phone and leaning forward slightly to see you better. Wetting his bottom lip with his tongue, he watches you with a considerably more intense gaze than earlier.

Mark eyes you curiously before he slowly closes his laptop and turns fully to look at you.

“Mhm,” you murmur, leaning back against the couch cushions and looking between the both of them. “Before you two started going for each other’s jugulars, I mean,” you explain. “I kinda like it when you two pay attention to me at the same time.” You shrug and Mark chuckles.

“Careful, or we’ll think you’re suggesting a threesome or something.” Mark warns you. You raise your eyebrows.

“And if I said I am?” Your question makes him and Haechan freeze, the two of them looking at each other before looking back at you.

“I’d say to be careful before you bite off more than you can chew.” Haechan says slowly, his gaze shifting into something more suggestive, more intriguing.

“I can handle myself.” You smile innocently, and Haechan snickers.

“You can handle both of us?” Mark asks, eyebrows raised skeptically as he regards you. There’s an unusual amount of confidence in his voice, but you can’t honestly say that you dislike it.

“I can multitask.” You echo Haechan’s words from earlier, and Haechan chuckles, resting his hand on your knee.

“I think this is more than you’re expecting,” he says, eyes scanning your face carefully—for what, you don’t know. Seemingly finding what he’s looking for, he slips his hand up higher on your leg, fingers running along one of the rips in your jeans.

“Way more,” Mark agrees, and there goes that damn cocky undertone again, riling you up even more than you already are.

“It’s a shame you guys are doing that No Nut November thing,” you sigh, looking at both of them in turn. 

There’s a tense silence for a moment, and Mark and Haechan appear to be having a wordless exchange. 

“Why is that?” Haechan asks, his voice lower and, to your surprise, far more serious than you’d expect.

“Haechan, why do you think?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Dude, you are such a tease,” Mark laughs in surprise, and you roll your eyes.

“Mark, if I very seriously asked you to fuck me right now, do you think you’d be able to stop calling me ‘dude?’” you ask, looking Mark dead in the eyes.

“Oh, shit,” Mark mumbles, eyes wide as he looks away, back to behaving more like the less forward Mark you’re used to. You bite back a laugh and look from him to Haechan, who’s staring at fingers as they play with the strings in the stylistic rips in your jeans.

“Are you done staring at the little bit of skin you can see through the holes in my jeans?” you ask with a teasing lilt, and Haechan manages to tear his gaze away from said skin and look you in the eyes.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “It makes me feel like a Victorian man seeing a goddamn ankle,” Haechan mutters under his breath, and you snicker, leaning in closer.

“If you want, I’ll let you see more than just an ankle.” you hum, and Haechan blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Where is all of this coming from?” He’s quick to ask, baffled, and you shrug nonchalantly.

“I’m feeling…needy,” you sigh, tipping your head back onto the couch with a huff, and Mark splutters in surprise.

“Needy how?” He looks up at Haechan for a moment before cautiously draping his arm around you like he had earlier, leaning into the couch so your sides are pressed against each other. Haechan mirrors his position but uses one hand to trail up and down your thigh, his eyes on you as they wait for you to say more.

“Needy like…I need to be touched.” you say, frowning, and Mark inhales sharply, studying your face.

“How do you want us to touch you?” Mark asks, but, once again, his tone is entirely different. Instead of hesitant and cautious, Mark sounds teasing and confident once more, and the shift is entirely welcome and incredibly exciting.

“I want you to do whatever you want,” you reply sincerely, and Mark’s lips quirk up into a budding grin as he looks past you to Haechan, who’s already looking at him with his brows raised. They exchange several looks in silence and you lose your patience and huff loudly, regaining their attention once more. “Stop talking secretly!” you complain, and Haechan snickers fondly, tucking a finger under your chin and turning you to look at him.

“Sorry, baby,” he murmurs, smiling at you. “We were just figuring out what we’re gonna do to you.” His words ignite a fire in you, arousal stirring in the pit of your stomach as Mark’s hand comes to rest on your upper thigh. You sneak a peek at both of their laps, noting with satisfaction that there’s definitely something straining against the front of their pants.

They’re so easy to rile up that it’s almost laughable, really, but you suppress your amusement, saving it for later.

“Did you figure it out yet? I’m not a patient girl, you know.” you say as you place a hand on their laps, dangerously close to the bulges in their pants.

Mark closes his eyes and exhales slowly, while Haechan pushes his hips up, urging your hand to slip down towards his clothed erection. You oblige and rest your hand on top of where he wants you, feeling the side of his length pressing against his sweats.

“We’re gonna—” Mark starts, but Jaemin shuffles into the room and effectively silences Mark. Jeno appears behind Jaemin, shooting you an apologetic glance before following him into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Jaemin,” you greet, amused as he emerges from the kitchen with a bag of chips, sleepy eyes regarding you before he smiles and lifts the bag of chips in lieu of a wave as he approaches the couch.

You remove your hands from Haechan and Mark (even though he seems not to notice your hand placement) and smile up at Jaemin innocently as Mark and Haechan surreptitiously conceal their laps. Jaemin extends his hand holding the chips to you in a silent offering, and you beam at him and reach into the bag, pulling out a couple of chips.

“Was I interrupting something?” Jaemin asks in a drowsy voice, looking between you suspiciously, Mark, and Haechan, the latter two sitting stiffly with their laps covered. 

“Well—” Haechan starts, but you stuff a chip in his mouth to shut him up.

“Nope.” You shake your head and smile innocently. Jaemin smiles lazily and plops down on the couch next to Haechan with a sigh of relief. You and Jeno exchange subtle looks before you pat Mark’s and Haechan’s thighs twice and stand up. “I’m gonna use the bathroom.”

As you pass by Jeno and head towards the bathroom, you hear Jeno say something about forgetting his stuff in his room and then the sound of footsteps trails after you.

“I’m sorry,” Jeno loudly whispers to you, and you stop in the middle of the hallway, turning to face him.

“What even happened?” you question, mildly amused at the unfortunate timing of the situation.

“Jaemin got hungry and was all like, ‘I don’t care about the bet right now, I want chips,’” Jeno explains with a roll of his eyes.

“I can’t blame him. These chips are good,” you mumble as you put the rest of the chips in your hand in your mouth.

“Did he come in way too early?” Jeno asks worriedly, and you frown pensively as you think back.

“Yeah,” you admit, Jeno sighing sadly. “Mark was just about to tell me what they were gonna do to me.”

“Damn,” he mumbles. “Well, I noticed they got hard! So job well done.” He claps your shoulder and you flinch. “Sorry; too hard?”

“Too hard.” You rub your shoulder with a wince. “Hey, Jeno?”

“Hm?”

“Can I borrow your laptop charger? I forgot mine at home.”

“Sure,” he agrees readily. “Hey, maybe you can ask one of them for help plugging it in,” he suggests with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

You look at him with a blank expression. “Jeno?”

“Yeah?”

“The charger.” 

“…Right.”

 Thursday, November 12th. 

you: maaaark are you alive

mark: i’m alive haha i’m in class

mark: what’s up?

you: i miss you :( 

mark: really?

mark: cute

you: when does your class end?

mark: 2:15

mark: wanna hang out after?

you: y e s i’ll meet you at the shuttle?

mark: you got it

mark: see you in a bit

“Mark,” you sigh dramatically, leaning against him in the shuttle bus’s seat. “Wanna smoke when we get back to your place?” You wiggle your eyebrows encouragingly. 

Mark snickers, nudging you away from him with his shoulder. “Yeah, but I’m running out of weed, so I might have to match you next time,” he answers and you wave him off.

“I got it,” you assure him.

“Oh, dope—then sure,” he agrees with a little nod and you smile widely at him before resting your head on his shoulder. He stiffens slightly and you bite back a laugh, craning your head to look up at him.

“Mark, you’re blushing.” you point out, gently touching his reddened cheek, and he shifts in his seat, pushing your cheek with two fingers so you’re looking away from him.

“Shut up,” he mumbles with a nervous laugh, and you decide to have mercy and oblige, pulling out your phone and opening TikTok to scroll aimlessly until you reach your stop. 

As you settle in by Mark’s windowsill and pull out your bowl and weed from your bag, Mark chuckles in mild surprise. 

“Do you always carry your bowl around during the day?” he asks as he moves to sit across from you in the windowsill.

You nod. “Gotta stay prepared.”

Mark watches as you meticulously pack the bowl with weed and scoot closer to him, offering him the first hit. 

“Nah.” Mark shakes his head and gestures to you. “Ladies first.”

“Such a gentleman, Mark,” you hum before lighting the bowl and taking a long hit. The smoke constricts your throat, threatening a cough, but you only let out a small huff, smoke coming from out of your nostrils as you scrunch your eyes closed. “God, that first hit never gets easier.”

“Tell me about it,” Mark chuckles as he takes the bowl and lighter from you. He takes a tentative hit, his face screwing up as he struggles not to cough. “Fuck, dude.”

“I know,” you murmur soothingly as he gives into the urge and coughs, smoke billowing around both of you as he empties his lungs of the smoke and fills them with fresh air instead. “Want some water?” You reach in your bag, handing him your Camelbak bottle which he takes readily, bringing it to his lips and sucking through the straw. His tiny coughs taper off gradually as he takes intermittent sips and he finally seems to recover, throwing his arm over his eyes as he groans loudly. “What’s wrong?”

“That was so lame of me, dude,” he half-chuckles, half-groans, and you tsk disapprovingly, moving his arm from over his face.

“I’m not gonna judge you for coughing when you smoke, Mark,” you say sincerely, and his face relaxes slightly as he looks at you with bright, hopeful eyes. “I cough all the time!”

“Yeah, but I just feel like it’s not cool for me to be having whole coughing fits, y’know?” Mark mumbles shyly, and you pat his knee comfortingly, squeezing it to get his attention. 

“Mark, I think you’re very cool,” you assure him.

He shoots you a funny look. “Really?”

“Well—no, not really.” you admit, and Mark frowns, opening his mouth to complain, but you shush him before continuing, “But I never thought any of you guys were ‘cool,’ to be fair.”

“I guess I’ll take that,” he sighs with a small chuckle. 

“Wanna try something that might help it go down easier?” you suggest with a raise of your eyebrows. 

Mark looks at you skeptically. “Sure,” he agrees tentatively.

You take the bowl and lighter back from him, take as big of a hit as you can manage, and lean in close to Mark, slowly exhaling the smoke into his mouth. Mark’s eyes flutter shut gradually and his hand moves to your waist, clutching you to keep you in place. When you finally pull back from him, he leans after you, his grip on your shirt tightening, and you fight back a smile, clearing your throat softly.

“Whoa.” Mark mumbles, and you nod, already feeling a bit calmer and fuzzier than earlier. “Hey, does that actually work?” Mark wonders, eyes glazed over, and you shrug.

“I don’t really know.” you admit, “I just know it’s fun.”

“It definitely is.” He nods in agreement, and you smile. “Can we, uh…” he starts, trailing off and avoiding eye contact. 

“You wanna do it again?” you ask, and he gives a small nod with a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. You take another hit of the bowl and scoot closer to Mark who, to your surprise, gently urges you onto his lap. When you lean in to blow the smoke into his mouth, he tilts his head to the side slightly, groaning quietly as you shift forward on his lap and your hands come to rest on his shoulders. 

This time, when the smoke runs out, you don’t move right away, noticing as his hands move to pull you closer, one hand pressed to the small of your back and the other resting between your shoulder blades, pulling you so close that you’re chest to chest. Testing the waters a bit, you lean forward just a bit more and graze your bottom lip against his.

Mark’s hand on your upper back moves to the back of your neck and pulls you in immediately, Mark connecting your lips with a groan of pleasure and, if you’re not mistaken, relief. He kisses you like he’ll never get the chance to do it again, with desperate nips of your bottom lip and eager movements of his tongue, which trails along your bottom lip with an air of impatience, prodding at the seam of your lips until you part them for him with a small content sigh. 

Mark’s hand on the small of your back slips down just a bit lower, resting just above your ass, and you lift your body up ever so slightly, urging his hand to drop lower so it’s directly where you both know he wants it to be. He grunts into your mouth, his hand squeezing your ass firmly as you sit back down on his lap. 

It’s when you suck gently on his tongue that his senses seem to return to him, Mark’s kissing growing more hesitant and nervous until he’s finally pulling away with a worried look on his face. If he hears the small whine of disappointment you let out, he doesn’t comment on it, instead opening and closing his mouth with no words coming out.

“I am so sorry—” he finally gets out, and you can’t help but roll your eyes and chuckle fondly.

“Mark.” you say pointedly, and he stops spluttering incoherently long enough to look at your amused expression. “What about that kiss made you think I didn’t like it?”

He shifts his gaze away from you and you make a sound of disapproval, prompting him to return his gaze to yours. You drape your arms over his shoulders, locking your fingers behind his neck, and look him directly in the eyes. 

“I thought I was coming on too strong,” Mark explains, and you roll your eyes—this time, for him to see—and rock your hips forward on his lap ever so slightly. He groans in surprise and grabs your hips with both hands, eyes widened slightly.

“I wish you’d come on stronger,” you say with a small wry smile, and he blinks at you in shock.

“For real?”

“For real.” You nod in confirmation, and he scans your face, gaze lingering on your lips. 

He wets his lips which, to your satisfaction, are still glistening from the previous kiss, and leans forward, tentatively connecting your lips again. You sigh in mild frustration, wanting more of the rougher Mark from earlier, and curl your fingers in the hair on the nape of his neck, tugging. A groan filled with need sounds out from his chest and he pushes forward more forcefully, kissing you with more passion and less hesitancy.

“Good, Mark,” you breathe encouragingly when you part to breathe, resting your forehead against his. “Just like that.”

He doesn’t even let you finish catching your breath as he captures your lips, the combination of his passionate and needy kissing and the weed in your system working to create a dizzying high feeling in your head.

Mark pulls back slightly and you whine, chasing after his lips. The chuckle he lets out is so deliciously cocky—smug, even—that you find yourself stunned by the version of Mark sitting under you right now.

“Want more?” he murmurs in a teasing lilt, and you nod, clutching the front of his shirt with one hand and pulling him closer to you. His hands slide up and down from your hips to your waist in soothing motions, directly contrasting the almost ruthless way he kisses your lips. 

You don’t know how long you two sit there kissing, but you do know that when you break the kiss to breathe, it feels like you’ve been underwater with how desperately you suck in air. 

“You’re good at that,” you say with a smile, and Mark chuckles, his hands never ceasing their motions on your sides. 

“Thanks. You are, too,” he replies with a small crooked grin. A brief silence falls between you two as you sit back slightly, resting your back against the side of the windowsill until a stirring feeling in your stomach draws your attention. 

“Hey, Mark?” you break the silence.

“Hm?”

“Do you have any snacks?”

“Snacks?” To say Mark seems confused by the shift in topic is an understatement.

“I just got really hungry.” You frown slightly, and he chuckles.

“Did the munchies hit you that fast?” Mark asks with an amused smile, and you shrug.

“I don’t know, but I want something to nibble.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because I want something, too,” he announces, sitting up slightly. You shift off his lap, quickly taking the last hit of the bowl and putting the smoking embers out, and take his hand when he offers it to you, following after him to the kitchen.

“Do you guys have fruit snacks still?” you ask, rooting through the cabinets.

“Yeah, we just bought some the other day,” Mark answers as he comes up behind you, reaching past a container of protein powder and box of cake batter to retrieve the box you’re looking for.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the box from his hand and pulling out a pack of fruit snacks. Ripping open the small package, you pop two fruit snacks in your mouth, chewing happily.

“You and your sweet tooth,” Mark chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs a bag of chips and starts eating them.

“I do not have a sweet tooth,” you reply defensively, and he raises his eyebrows.

“We have to keep our house stocked with gummies and sweet snacks otherwise you won’t come over, and you think you don’t have a sweet tooth?” Mark asks with a skeptical raise of his eyebrows, and you frown.

“Shut up.” 

“I’m just saying!”

“Shut up! Changing the topic. Why do y’all have cake batter if you don’t even bake?”

“Jaemin says he’ll get around to it one day.”

“Sure he will.” you scoff in amusement, popping another fruit snack in your mouth.

“He will if he makes it a weed cake.”

“Now that I believe.”

“Same,” Mark laughs, propping himself up on the counter across from you.

You pat the spot next to you. “No, come sit here.” Mark grins and complies, hopping up and sitting himself on the counter beside you. “Want a fruit snack?”

“Sure,” Mark replies with a shrug. You reach in the bag and pull out a strawberry one, frowning before putting it back. “I like the strawberry ones!”

“Yeah, me too,” you say. “That’s why you’re not getting one.”

“Evil,” Mark laughs, and you pull out an orange one and offer it to him. “You’re lucky I like the orange ones.”

“They taste funny to me,” you shake your head in disgust just thinking about it, and Mark snickers, reaching a hand out for the fruit snack. “No, open.” You place the fruit snack just in front of his lips.

“Are you serious?” Mark raises his eyebrows skeptically, and you nod. “Alright,” he mumbles, opening his mouth and letting you feed it to him.

“Cute,” you chuckle, popping another fruit snack in your mouth. When you pull out an orange one again, you feed it to Mark, who accepts it with no qualms.

“I don’t know if I’m just high, but you know what I wish I could have right now?” Mark pipes up, and you turn your head to look at him. “A Krabby Patty.”

“No, because why do they always look so good?” You turn your whole body towards Mark, whose eyes light up.

“Right?! Dude, Spongebob was such a good show.” Mark sighs, and you give him a funny look.

“Was? It’s still on the air,” you point out, and he gives you a baffled look. “I mean, the original creator left the show, so it’s not as funny, but it’s still pretty amusing.”

“Dude, I had no idea.” Mark’s eyes are wide with surprise before his expression shifts to hopeful. “Yo, do you think we could—”

“Yes, we can watch Spongebob.” you answer with a laugh, and Mark grins at you. “I’m pretty sure it’s marathoning on Nickelodeon in a couple minutes from now.”

“Oh, dope,” Mark mutters excitedly, hopping off the counter, grabbing the bag of chips, and heading to the living room.

You follow after him with a small mischievous smile, a scheme to mess with him already brewing in your mind.

“Wait. You wanna sit here?” Mark asks, baffled, and you smile, nodding innocently.

“Yep,” you say, popping your lips on the “p.” “Can I?”

“Sure, I guess.” Mark mumbles, and you place yourself on his lap sideways so your legs drape over his thighs. “Oh.”

“Good?” you ask, and he nods, staring down at your legs with wide eyes. 

“Great.” He sounds a bit breathless, and you manage to withhold your laugh. 

“Then pay attention,” you hum, jerking your chin towards the television. He nods jerkily and complies, pressing the mute button on the remote to unmute the volume and letting his hand fall back to his side.

You wait for the perfect time to strike, biding your time by watching the television as Spongebob plays, and the opportunity finally presents itself.

The first episode ends and the commercials start to roll before the next episode, making Mark look at you.

“You wanna watch the next one?” he asks, visibly hopeful.

“Yeah,” you hum, studying his lips. “Lemme get more comfortable, though.”

“Yeah, sure—oh,” Mark grunts when you shift on his lap, the underside of your thigh rubbing against the front of his sweats. 

“You say ‘oh’ a lot.” 

“You do things that make me say ‘oh’ a lot.” Mark replies, and you smile, pleased that he’s taken the bait.

“Oh, yeah?” you muse, resting your head on his shoulder and tracing over the silver chain around his neck. He shivers under your gentle touch, and your smile widens. “What do I do?”

“You, uh—” Mark cuts himself off, gesturing at your position. “You sit on me.”

“I sit on Lia sometimes and she doesn’t say ‘oh.’” you point out.

“That’s different, and you know it.”

“Whatever. You only explained one of your ‘oh’ moments today. What about the other one?” you press, and you watch Mark balk.

“You…moved on my lap.” 

“I can’t move now?” You raise an eyebrow. He’s walking right into your trap.

“You moved a certain way,” Mark tries desperately to explain without actually explaining, but you’re on a mission.

“What way was that?” you ask in a soft voice. Mark doesn’t answer, instead swallowing thickly, so you tug gently at the silver earring in his lobe, smiling with satisfaction when the beginnings of a moan eke out from his lips before he covers it up by clearing his throat. “You know what? I’ll help you out if you can’t find the words.” you offer, watching Mark carefully as he nods immediately.

“Please.”

“Was I moving like this?” You shift yourself on his lap again, the underside of your thigh now pressing against the front of his pants. Mark opens his mouth to speak, but you’re not done. “Or was it more like this?” You move back slightly to distribute your weight more evenly on his lap, trying to hide your smile when you feel his length starting to stir.

“Please stop moving,” he says through clenched teeth, his eyes closed, and you let out a small ‘hmph’ of dissatisfaction.

“Why?” You look directly at him, waiting for him to meet your gaze. He does after a moment of tense silence, eyes flitting between your eyes and your lips. “Hm?” you hum softly, encouraging him to speak.

“Because it’s, um—it’s kind of—” Mark mumbles, looking strained.

“Oh,” you say slowly in surprise, deciding to spare him from saying the actual words. “Is it turning you on, Mark?” 

“Yes,” he grumbles reluctantly, and you smile widely, leaning closer to murmur directly into his ear.

“Good.”

He whips his head around to face you so abruptly that you don’t have time to move back, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth accidentally.

“Shit—sorry,” Mark stammers, eyes wide and nervous as if you two hadn’t just made out in his room less than an hour ago.

“It’s okay, Mark,” you laugh, waving his apology off dismissively. “I kinda liked it.”

“…Kinda?”

“By ‘kinda liked,’ I mean ‘really liked,’” you correct yourself, and he blinks at you as he visibly buffers.

He looks down at his lap for a moment, brows furrowing in thought, before he speaks next.

“Enough for me to do it again?” His voice is lower, almost hushed, and the question hangs in the infinitesimal space between you two. “Like, properly this time?”

You don’t answer him verbally yet, instead placing a finger under his chin and turning his head so he’s facing you. You stare pointedly at his lips, the bottom of which he starts to nibble nervously.

“On one condition.”

“What?”

“You do it like earlier. Don’t do it like you’re scared of me,” you murmur lightheartedly, and Mark gives a small chuckle, nodding in agreement.

“Deal.” And his lips are on yours in an instant. It takes him absolutely no time to reposition you, maneuvering you so you’re straddling his lap with your knees on the couch on either side of him. One hand falls to your hip and the other slides behind you to grip your ass firmly. He kisses you like he’s got something to prove—purposeful and skilled movements of his lips and deliberate, dizzying flicks of his tongue have you almost forgetting your objective, your mind slowly melting into putty.

He sucks on your bottom lip just as you rock your hips forward onto him, and he breaks the kiss to look down at your laps and back up at you with a heavy-lidded gaze, wetting his lips before speaking.

“Do that again.” 

“Yeah?” you ask, a bit breathless. Mark’s kissing skills manage to take you by surprise a second time, to say the least. “This?” You muster enough sense to tease him once more, grinding against his lap and whining with pleasure when your core drags against his gradually hardening length.

“Fuck, yes,” Mark groans, leaning in to kiss you again. He adjusts his grip on you, moving both hands to hold your hips, and he guides you in your fluid, rhythmic movements against his lap. 

It’s not long before he feels fully hard under your ministrations, the size of his length also something that takes you by surprise, and he shudders with pleasure, his lips moving down to kiss and suck at your neck as you grind against him.

You almost feel bad for what you’re about to do. 

Almost.

You tip your head back, allowing him more access to your neck, and press your hips down against him just a bit harder, urging both of you towards a climax.

“Mark,” you whimper, moving one hand from his shoulder to slip between you two and massage your clit through the thin fabric of your leggings and underwear. “Feels so good—”

Mark looks down at your hand moving against your core and hisses in surprise, evidently pleased by the sight. “God, I think I’m gonna—”

“Me too,” you pant, moving your fingers faster and harder as you dip your head lower to kiss Mark’s neck and suck pretty love bites into the skin. “Oh—oh, my God—” The pleasure builds and builds until it’s almost unbearable and the coil wound up tight in your stomach finally snaps, your orgasm washing over you, the intensity ebbing and flowing with every now erratic movement of your hips. 

Mark’s fingers dig into your hips so hard you suspect you’ll feel sore there later, and you keen lowly against his pulse point, collecting yourself for the next step of your plan.

“Wait—” You stop rocking your hips abruptly, and Mark’s head snaps up to look at you in a mix of alarm and confusion. “Aren’t you doing No Nut November?”

“I—well—yeah,” he stumbles through the sentence as his hips roll up, lifting you up slightly. 

“Then we should stop, right?” You raise an eyebrow, and the strained look on his face is almost enough to make you take pity on him and stop teasing him.

“I mean—” he says slowly, and you smile, slowly continuing your movements.

“What if you just forget about the bet for a bit, yeah?” you coax breathlessly, and he groans weakly.

“I can’t,” he grunts, a tortured frown on his face.

“Why not?” you coo, moving to speak against his ear. “I won’t tell.” You bring his hand up to cup your breast, Mark’s eyes bulging before he kneads it slowly.

“I could, but—” he mumbles, and you grind down harder in encouragement. “No, I’d—shit—I’d feel so guilty.”

“Oh, Mark,” you sigh sympathetically, “you’re too good. Don’t you wanna try and be just a little bad for once?”

“Yes,” he stresses the word desperately, looking up at you with a conflicted expression. “So fucking bad,” he grunts, his hips lifting up again. “But—”

“But you can’t,” you finish for him with a pitying sigh. “I get it. Guess that means I should stop, then, huh?”

“I guess so,” he mumbles, visibly flustered and sounding slightly disappointed. You nod, pat his shoulder amicably, and climb off his lap, standing up and stretching your limbs, the after-buzz of your climax creating a bit of a fuzzy headspace you wouldn’t mind staying in for a while. “Wh–where are you going?” Mark asks when you grab your bag from the other end of the couch, and you turn to him with an apologetic frown.

“I totally forgot I have an essay due this weekend,” you say sadly, the lie rolling off your tongue with ease. Truthfully, you do have an essay due this weekend; it’s just already done and you didn’t forget. “I gotta go crank it out.”

“Oh…yeah, okay,” Mark agrees after a pause, clearly dazed but nodding in understanding. “Good luck with it.”

“Thanks, Mark!” you say cheerfully before turning on your heel and making your way out of his apartment. When you shut the door behind you, you lean against the wall and exhale slowly, overwhelmed. You definitely didn’t anticipate that going as far as it did, but you can’t say you’re complaining at all. 

All you know is Mark has one hell of an erection to make disappear, and you wish you could be a fly on the wall to witness it.

 Monday, November 16th. 

“Hey, how’s Mission No Nut November going?” Lia asks as she, you, and Yeji take the elevator up to the guys’ apartment.

“Oh, great. I got them both last week—even though Jaemin interrupted—and I got Mark good on Thursday.” you answer proudly, and Yeji snickers.

“I heard about Thursday, from Jeno,” she pipes up. “He said when he came home, Mark was watching a bunch of pimple popping videos to make his boner go down.”

“That’s rich,” Lia snorts. “Speaking of Mark, I’m pretty sure he told me he wasn’t gonna be at the smoke session today; I think he has a project due this weekend.”

“Yeah, he told me, too. Pretty sure he’s camped up in the library as we speak,” you sigh, shaking your head solemnly.

“Well, now you get some one-on-one time with Haechan,” Yeji points out, and you smile, feeling mischievous. The elevator dings and the doors open, the three of you heading down the hall to their apartment.

“Very true. For your sake, y’all should avert your eyes.”

“Oh, dear God.” Yeji mumbles.

“It’s so worth it,” Lia assures her, knocking on the door. Barely any time passes before it opens, Jaemin standing there with a suspiciously wide grin on his face.

“I see someone dipped into their secret stash before we got here,” you say with a laugh, and he just nods with the same dopey smile, the four of you standing in place. “Jaemin?”

“Hm?”

“Can we come in?”

“Sure,” he answers. He doesn’t move.

“Um…Jaemin?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you let us in?” 

“Sure,” he replies. He still doesn’t move. 

Lia sighs.

“Jaemin.”

“Hm?” 

“Let us in. Move. Open sesame.” you say, waving your hand in front of his face. He blinks twice before making an “o” shape with his mouth.

“Sure, yeah, my bad.” he moves to the side, letting you three trail in and get comfortable, putting your coats away and removing your shoes.

You see Jeno setting up the bong on the coffee table while Haechan sits on the couch, scrolling through his phone. Haechan looks up casually, locking eyes with you before his own widen almost imperceptibly and he sits up straighter, stretching his legs out and spreading them wider.

“Hey,” he says offhandedly, grinning as casually as can be considering he just readjusted his whole demeanor to impress you. 

“Hi,” you coo, heading over to where he sits. You bend over, placing both hands on his knees, and lean forward to murmur in his ear, “I wanna sit next to you. Save me this spot?” You tap the arm of the couch, and he falters slightly, shooting you a surprised and confused look, but obliges, scooting over so there’s space between him and the arm of the couch. 

“All for you,” he assures you, and you smile, looking over to where Lia stands, mumbling to herself in annoyance as she roots through her bag for something. She pulls out a small makeup bag and opens it, retrieving a pre-rolled joint and waving it triumphantly. 

“Got it!” she chirps, moving to the couch and sitting down next to Haechan on the side he doesn’t have saved for you. “Lighter?” she asks the rest of you, and Jaemin shrugs.

“I’m guessing you took an edible, then?” Yeji asks Jaemin, and he nods, that same smile coming back to his lips.

“That I did,” he giggles, making you roll your eyes in amusement as you sit between Haechan and the end of the couch. Haechan eyes your skirt and your dark stockings intently, pinching the thin fabric with a lighthearted scoff.

“Can I help you?” you ask nonchalantly, placing your hand on top of his hand.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks curiously, and you shake your head. 

“Why? Are you worried about me, Haechan?” you coo fondly, and he turns his palm up so it’s touching yours, lacing your fingers together.

“What if I say yes?” His voice is a murmur as he turns his head to look at you.

“I’d say you’re cute.”

“Then yes.”

“You’re cute.” You smile, and he grins.

“You’re cute.”

You dismiss him with a small roll of your eyes, averting your gaze and locking gazes with Yeji, who wiggles her eyebrows suggestively as she looks pointedly at your and Haechan’s linked hands. You give a minuscule nod with a smile and return your attention to Haechan, who, you think, has witnessed your secret interaction, his eyes moving between Yeji and you.

“…Remind me again why you wanted to sit next to me,” Haechan asks you suspiciously, and you pout at him.

“Because you’re my favorite,” you coo, resting your head on his shoulder and batting your lashes at his wary look.

“Oh, yeah? Does Mark know that?” he chuckles, and you raise a brow.

“Do you want him to?” you counter.

Haechan shrugs. “Depends. I kinda like seeing him sulk sometimes.”

“Wow, you’re such a good friend.” you remark sarcastically.

“Now, now. Is that any way to talk to your favorite?” Haechan nudges you playfully and you snicker.

“Shut up.” you huff, jerking your chin in the direction of Lia, who’s taking a hit from the joint she brought. “It’s almost your turn.”

Haechan takes it from Lia’s outstretched fingers as she exhales a cloud of smoke, bringing it to his lips and taking a long drag. You can’t help but admire the way he looks while he smokes, his pink lips wrapped around the joint making you itch to feel them on your skin.

He blows out the smoke in several rings, looking over at you with a smug grin. You roll your eyes, but it’s too late—if his amused exhale is any indication, he already caught sight of your smile.

“Show off.”

“You love it,” he retorts, and you stick your tongue out at him in lieu of a verbal response. 

“Whatever. Pass it,” you beckon for the joint, and Haechan’s grin widens as he leans closer to you. “Haechan,” you complain, and he chuckles.

“Ask me nicely.” His voice is low so as not to catch anyone’s attention besides yours, and his eyes drop from your gaze to your lips, his own parting subconsciously.

You lean in closer as well, still studying his face with curiosity, and bring your lips to the side of his face, deliberately brushing them against the shell of his ear to watch him get all jittery.

“Haechan,” you coo, and you can hear him swallow thickly.

“Yeah?” He sounds significantly less confident now, you note with satisfaction.

You pause to build the suspense. “Gimme it.” You pluck the joint from his unsuspecting hand, and he splutters in surprise as you pull away from him and bring it to your lips to take a pull.

“You’re evil,” he complains, and you smile widely.

“Sorry,” you reply unapologetically, exhaling the smoke with every word you speak. You take another drag of the joint and lean over Haechan, resting your hand on his thigh as you pass it over him and back to Lia.

“Wh—hey!” Haechan protests immediately, only for you to cup his chin in your hand and blow the smoke in between his parted lips. He shuts up immediately and allows you to shotgun him, his hand moving to hold the side of your neck and keep you in place.

Normally, you’d be a bit more concerned with people watching, but not everyone in the room can see you—Jaemin and Yeji are immersed in some conversation while Jeno rummages around in the kitchen—and the ones who can see you already know about the bet and your plan, Lia pointedly looking away as she calls to Jeno in the kitchen.

When the smoke runs out, you pull back before Haechan can close the distance between you two, grinning wickedly when he chases your lips with his eyes still closed. You shake his head in a “no” gesture, and he opens his eyes slowly, gaze locked on you with a dazed look on his face.

“There’s your hit,” you murmur, and he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You raise your brows in surprise. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you speechless.” 

“Yeah, well, you’re not playing fair,” he mumbles, looking put out.

“Sorry, Haechan,” you chuckle, squeezing his thigh under the guise of comforting him. He looks down at his thigh in surprise, then back at you with wary eyes.

“What are you up to?”

You don’t answer, instead smiling secretively and sliding your hand up just a bit higher. 

“What are you up to?” he presses, and you shrug, moving your hand up just a bit higher until you brush against something warm and solid and smile in satisfaction. “Good God.”

“Haechan, take your phone out of your pocket,” you say with a mocking frown, and he glares at you.

“You know damn well that’s not my phone.” As if to prove his point, he picks his phone up from beside him, waving the device in your face.

“Oh? Then what is it?” you ask curiously, feigning cluelessness, and Haechan’s glare only intensifies. You widen your eyes in a dramatic show of realization and sit closer to him, sliding your hand up higher until there’s no mistaking your intentions. “Haechan.” You attempt to sound as scandalized as possible.

“I’m gonna throttle you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” You smile sweetly, patting the growing bulge in his pants lightly. “Haechan,” you whisper, returning to your original line of questioning, “if it’s not your phone, then what is it?” 

“You know what it is.” His voice is flat, if not a bit strained, and you can’t help but smile wider.

“Are you hard, Haechan?” You place your free hand over your chest and blink at him in shock. Haechan pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he bites back a humorless chuckle, and you wet your lips absentmindedly, your gaze falling to his mouth. “Why are you hard, Haechan?” you murmur, cocking your head to the side curiously. (As if you don’t know.)

“Hm, I don’t know. Surely it has nothing to do with the girl next to me right now rubbing up on me,” Haechan remarks drily. “You get on my nerves sometimes, you know that?” He’s clearly joking, the playful lilt in his voice unmistakable, but you eagerly take the opening to be difficult.

You frown, retracting your hand from his lap. Haechan looks from his now untouched lap to you in what you’re positive is poorly concealed disappointment. “What?”

“I get on your nerves?” You sniffle in faux hurt before you angle your body away from him, resting your elbow on the arm of the sofa and placing your chin in your hand forlornly.

“Aw, c’mere,” Haechan chuckles, winding an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. You huff and scoot closer to the edge of the couch, barely hiding your yelp of surprise when Haechan pulls you to him so hard that you practically land in his lap. You continue to look away from him, sighing dramatically, and he snickers, placing his chin on your shoulder and turning his face towards you so his nose is brushing against your cheek. “Did I hurt your feelings?” 

“Let me go,” you say, your voice clipped, and he adjusts you so you’re sitting properly in his lap before he tilts his head up to press his lips to your cheek.

“Would it help if I told you just how cute I think you are?” His voice comes out as an almost incoherent mumble because of how his lips are squished against your cheek, but you hear him all the same, your face heating up as you fight back a smile.

“No.”

“You sure?” His hand moves a lock of your hair behind your ear before coming to rest on your thigh.

You pause, staring at his (very attractive) hand on your leg. “I’m sure.” 

He shifts you in his lap so his lips are closer to your ear and murmurs, “Even if I tell you that you could never actually get on my nerves and that you’re the prettiest girl?”

“What, ever?” you scoff, amused, and he nods, his lips brushing your ear with the movement.

“Yes, ever.” To your surprise, he sounds sincere, and the notion of the compliment being genuine has your cheeks burning with heat. “I can see you trying not to smile, you know.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Okay.” You shift on his lap so you can sit directly on the growing erection in his pants, and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Ha, ha.” you gloat.

“You shut up.” It’s his turn to gripe at you, and you shrug.

“No.” Before he can say anything else in response, you cover his mouth with your hand and lean over towards Lia to take the joint from her once more. You two share a secretive, knowing look before she angles her body so that she’s shielding you and your shenanigans from the rest of the group.

You keep your hand over Haechan’s mouth as you take your hit of the joint, before a warm, wet sensation on your palm has you yanking your hand off of his mouth like you’ve been burned. You stare down at the glistening wet stripe on your palm in bewilderment and look back up at him incredulously.

“Can I help you?” Haechan asks nonchalantly, having the audacity to smile innocently at you, and you narrow your eyes.

“Did you seriously just lick me?” you scoff in disbelief, and he shrugs.

“Maybe.”

“You are so weird.” you mumble as you pass Lia the joint, skipping Haechan once more.

“You’re gonna stop skipping me in the rotation, I know that much.” Haechan warns and you roll your eyes.

“That’s for saying I get on your nerves and for being weird.” you reply, turning your nose up.

“Oh, please. You’re sitting on my lap, so clearly you must like how weird I am, at least a little bit.” He grins teasingly, and you roll your eyes, adjusting yourself on his lap until he lets out a choked groan from the feeling of you moving against his concealed, almost entirely hard length. “Stop moving.”

“Your dick is making me uncomfortable,” you lie in a huff, squirming around a bit more before he grabs your hips to restrict your movements. “Get un-hard.”

“I can’t just get un-hard,” Haechan bites back.

“You didn’t even try!”

“That’s not how dicks work!” Haechan whisper-snaps at you, and you narrow your eyes.

“Well, do something,” you complain, ending your little hushed whisper debate. “Or I will.” 

Haechan regards you warily. “Do I want to know what that means?”

“Probably not.” You shrug. “But you’re gonna find out anyway.”

“Psst!” Lia whispers to get your attention, and you look over at her, feeling slightly sheepish. “Do either of you want to take a hit from the bong?”

“I’m good for right now,” you say, smiling as the hits from the joint you’ve already taken continue to take effect, while Haechan hums thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I’ll take a hit.” He reaches for the bong as Lia hands it over, gripping your waist with his free hand to keep you steady, and an idea comes to your mind of how you can mess with him even more.

He brings his mouth to the mouthpiece of the bong, taking his hit and you gently stroke his leg, smiling innocently when he side-eyes you suspiciously. You wait patiently until he finishes exhaling the smoke (you’re not a total monster) to rest your hand directly over his concealed length and squeeze it firmly, making him cough in surprise, Haechan spluttering comically as you bite back your laughter. 

“Y’know what?” Haechan mutters, jaw set in determination as he stares you down. “Come on.” He moves you off of his lap, wraps his fingers around your wrist, and pulls you to your feet, walking away quickly with you in tow. When Jaemin curiously asks where you’re going, Haechan mutters something about the kitchen and snacks, not offering any further explanation.

You shoot Jaemin a thumbs-up over your shoulder, and he grins, nodding and returning the gesture just before Haechan leads you out of view. You two make it into the kitchen, passing a smiling Jeno with a bag of Cheetos and a plate of pizza rolls on his way out, and Haechan pushes you up against the counter, caging you in with his arms and staring directly at you.

“Haechan, why are we here?” you ask, looking back at him as calmly as possible given the steady increase of your heart rate as he eyes you with an unreadable expression.

“What,” Haechan steps closer to you, making you shrink back against the counter even more, “are you playing at?”

You blink at him impassively. “I don’t know what you mean,” you lie.

“You’re sitting next to me, calling me your favorite, feeling me up in front of our friends—”

“Haechan.” You interrupt him, an eyebrow raised skeptically. “You literally liked it. Stop complaining.”

“I don’t like being felt up in front of our friends, actually.” You can tell he’s trying to sound like he means it, but the way he suddenly avoids your gaze sheepishly tells you everything you need to know.

“You’re lying,” you say simply, and he huffs. 

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am n—”

“Haechan, do you think I’m an idiot?” You stare at him, unimpressed. “You liked it. You pulled me onto your lap. You didn’t move my hand once.” He rolls his eyes, still not making eye contact, and you sigh in frustration, cupping his chin and turning his head so he’s looking at you. “You wanna know why I did all that?” you ask in a quiet but urgent voice, and he blinks a couple of times before nodding. “I was sitting next to you and you just look so good today—”

“Don’t say that,” he mutters, his brows furrowing together as he looks away from you again.

“You do,” you insist, pulling Haechan closer to you by the chin. “You look so hot in that hoodie, honestly.” You loop one of the strings of the light gray hoodie around your finger and tug it lightly as you continue speaking. “Honestly, it’s really on you that I did anything in the first place,” You say, shrugging, and he looks back at you incredulously.

“It’s on me?”

“Yep.” You smile at him and bring both hands to the hem of his hoodie, tugging him even closer to you. “You had the nerve to wear gray sweatpants—”

“They match my hoodie!” 

“—like some kind of slut,” you continue, looking from your hands on the bottom of his hoodie up to his face, “and think no one was gonna notice your entire goddamn dick print in your pants?”

“Well, who’s looking that closely?!” Haechan splutters defensively, and you scoff. 

“Everyone knows the shape of a dick, Haechan!” You whisper-yell incredulously. “Plus, it’s not like you’re exactly small, y’know.”

“So, it’s my fault that you tried to jump my bones? My crime is having a big dick and wanting to wear sweats in the middle of November?” Haechan asks in disbelief, and you nod simply, pulling him even closer until your legs brush against his. 

“Yeah.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m not. Actually, what I am is turned on,” you correct, and Haechan stops short, looking at you carefully.

“You’re what?”

“You heard me.” You stare back at him challengingly. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, Haechan’s eyes briefly dropping to scan your whole body before returning upwards to look into your own, his gaze considerably more intense and glinting with mischief. “Can you stop staring at me like that and do something about it?”

“Oh?” Haechan’s smile turns wicked as he steps closer to you so you’re pressed up against each other with the countertop digging into your back. “Do what about it, hm?”

“I don’t know,” you lilt, dragging the last syllable out and batting your lashes at him coyly. With one hand, you release his hoodie and trail down his body the short distance from the hem of his hoodie to the string of his sweats. You slowly pull at the string until it’s untied, looking up at his face. He’s mesmerized, watching your hand as it dips into the band of his sweats and snaps the elastic against his skin, making him jolt. “Use your imagination.”

“You are so dangerous.” Haechan mumbles in a daze, but there’s an unmistakable desire in his voice that gives you all the confirmation you need to continue. He brings his hands to your hips, urging you up and onto the counter, immediately pushing himself between your legs and resting his hands on your thighs. 

You place a hand between your legs protectively to conceal yourself, your skirt riding up your thighs as he massages them. 

“Relax,” he chuckles, pinching your thin stockings and letting them lightly snap against your skin, “you’re covered.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” you mumble, averting your gaze, and he snickers, pinching your stockings again and tugging them. “Stop, they're fragile—you could rip them.”

“Oh, I know,” he murmurs teasingly, looking up from your thighs at your face. “I want to rip them.”

“Don’t you dare,” you warn him, and he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Stop me.” His eyes are trained on your lips and he’s got his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, painting a very alluring image that makes you wish you could get just a bit of friction between your legs, any pressure at all, to relieve yourself of some of the tension building up. 

He leans forward, your lips brushing lightly against each other’s, and you’re not even sure who’s teasing whom at this point. You do know, however, that Haechan is the first to cave, leaning in with a groan to close the distance between you two and connect your lips.

You two kiss with an air of desperation, a feverish quality to your every move as he kneads your thighs, hiking your skirt up higher. His tongue eases between your lips and he strokes it against your own, pushing forward slightly to suck on your tongue when he pulls back.

As you two kiss, you push your hand past the band of his sweats, moving to slip your hand into his boxers, only to stop short and look at him in surprise. He raises his eyebrows and grins playfully, eyes darting between where your hand lies in his pants and your shocked face.

“No boxers? Just out here, rawdogging your sweats, dick and balls and all?” You’re incredulous, and he shrugs as his grin widens. “You really are a slut, Haechan.”

“Hey!” Haechan complains, frowning at you. He wraps his hand around your wrist and urges it lower down until your fingertips are brushing against his length, murmuring, “Besides, don’t act like you don’t love it.”

“I never said I don’t love it,” you reply slowly, wrapping your hand around the base of his length. His erection is hot and heavy in your palm, thick and tempting, and you stroke upwards, relishing the hiss he lets out. “I just said you’re a slut.”

“And what about you, pretty?” Haechan presses in a low voice. “Are you a little slut?”

“Me? No,” you answer, stroking his length faster and appreciating the way he grows in your hand. “I’m innocent.”

“Sure,” he snorts in amusement. “Your hand is wrapped around my dick right now.”

“Oh, is it? I hadn’t noticed.” You twist your wrist, tightening your grip on him and stroking him faster. He grunts in satisfaction and leans closer to you, tilting your head to the side slightly and giving your neck heated, wet kisses as you jerk him off. You welcome the attention eagerly, loosely hooking your legs around the backs of his legs and sighing happily as he licks and sucks at your pulse point.

“Wait—slow down, or I’m gonna cum.” Haechan mutters in a warning tone against your skin, and it’s your turn to snort in amusement.

“Haechan, what do you think my goal is right now?”

“No, but—shit,” he swears, biting down on your neck to stifle the groan that escapes him when you jerk him off faster, swiping your thumb over the head of his length, collecting the glaze of his precum and using it as lubrication. “No, because—ugh, that feels so good.”

“Good,” you hum sweetly, massaging his tip with your thumb and working your hand up and down his length as he pants against your neck, his kisses getting sloppier.

“I can’t,” he manages to get out through his clenched teeth. “No Nut November—the bet—”

“Fuck the bet,” you say simply, and he shakes his head, a desperate, plaintive whine leaving him.

“Can’t—I can’t cum,” he says through a shaky exhale, and you roll your eyes as you collect several more beads of precum from the head of his length.

“What’s this, Haechan?” you taunt him playfully, stroking him faster with the help of the precum. “Feels like cum to me.”

“That doesn’t count,” he whines, and you snicker.

“You really don’t want to cum?” you ask gently, rolling your eyes as he starts to thrust forward into your hand. “You’re not acting like you don’t want to cum.”

“It feels so good,” he complains, and you coo sympathetically, letting him fuck into your fist.

“Then cum.”

“No—”

“Then I’ll stop,” you say simply, and his fingers dig into your thighs desperately.

“No—” 

“Haechan.”

“God, fuck, please, just a little bit longer.” Haechan pants, and you pretend to oblige, continuing to provide the fist he’s fucking. You can feel him throbbing in your hand as his would-be climax approaches, and you smile devilishly when you pull your hand out from his underwear and watch as he goes through every stage of grief, lingering in anger before a brief pass through bargaining and finally coming to acceptance as his head hangs low.

“Sorry,” you say with a pout, and he looks up at you, still defeated but also skeptical.

“Are you?”

You pretend to think. “Nope.” You gently push him away from you with a knee to his stomach, hopping off the counter and smiling at him. “Have fun getting rid of that,” you chuckle, gesturing to the now incredibly prominent imprint of his erection, and he glowers at you. “I’m gonna go take a bong hit.”

You don’t stick around to hear his response, turning on your heel and heading back into the living room. Your friends all turn from their conversations to look at you as you re-enter the room, all sporting the same expectant look, and silently celebrate when you shoot them a thumbs-up, Jeno and Lia high-fiving.

“Want some?” Jeno holds up the bong, and you nod, reaching for it before you stop yourself and look at your hand. “What’s wrong?”

“I do want some,” you say, “but I think I should wash my hands first. Be right back.” You head for the bathroom, peeking in at Haechan as you pass the kitchen and clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your laugh.

He’s standing with his forehead against the fridge, gently thumping his head against the metal door, and repeatedly muttering, “I fucking hate November.”

You know you should feel bad, but…you don’t. At all, really.

As a matter of fact, you think you might love November.

 Friday, November 20th.

“Knock, knock,” you call when you poke your head into Mark’s room. He turns from his computer towards the door, beaming when he sees you. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course, dude,” Mark says, waving you in with one hand. He turns back to his screen and presses a couple of keys on his keyboard, swearing under his breath before turning back to face you. 

“Whatcha doin’?” you ask.

“Playing Monster Hunter World,” he answers with a jab of his thumb in the direction of his screen. “Why, what’s up?”

“Missed you, that’s all.” you say softly, making your way over to his chair and standing behind it. “I did my rounds bothering your roommates and it’s your turn to put up with me.”

“You’re telling me Haechan let you leave his room?” Mark snickers in disbelief, craning his head to look at you.

“I told him I wanted to see you.” You shrug.

Mark snorts loudly. “And he still let you leave his room?”

“I can be very persuasive,” you huff, and Mark scans your frame before raising his eyebrows.

“I bet.” he mumbles with a small smirk.

You blink twice. “What was that?”

“Look at your outfit,” Mark swivels around in his chair to face you fully and you scoff in surprise. Mark seems to pick up on where your mind is heading and his eyes widen as he shakes his head vehemently. “No, not like that!”

“Then like what?” You cock your head to the side and Mark puts his head in his hands, sighing in anguish. 

“Like—you look hot, dude—that’s all I meant,” he assures you in a rush of words, and you let out a small huff, prompting him to reach for your hands. He pulls you closer and looks up at you with pleading eyes. “I would never say something like that.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, and he swears under his breath. 

“You just look really…fucking…attractive, so it’s no wonder why he listened to you.” Mark says carefully. You feel a smile coming on and you step closer, nudging his knees apart to stand between them. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, oh, my God, yeah—” Mark stammers, releasing one hand to gesture at your outfit. “Your hair—I love when you wear your hair like that—and your jeans, they—um,” Mark’s voice trails off awkwardly and you cock an eyebrow, bending down to meet his eyes. “They fit you very nicely.”

“Mark, are you telling me my ass looks good?” You stand up and bite back a smile as his ears redden and he laughs nervously, releasing you to rub the back of his neck.

“Maybe,” he answers sheepishly, looking up at you. At the sight of your thoroughly amused face, some of his confidence returns to his demeanor. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

“If you were, I’d say thank you,” you say with a playful shrug. “Maybe even kiss you for the compliment.”

“I was definitely complimenting your ass.” The words can’t come out of Mark’s mouth fast enough, apparently, and you laugh in surprise.

“Well, thank you,” you laugh before you sink into a squat and rest your elbows on his lap. “Where do you want your kiss?”

He taps his cheek and you smile and lean closer to press a kiss there, his cheek moving under your lips as he smiles.

“Your cardigan is also really, um, flattering,” Mark adds when you sit back, and you raise your eyebrows.

“Is it? Haechan said that, too,” you muse thoughtfully.

“Yeah, he’s right.” Mark nods, and you raise your eyebrows.

“He made some dumb joke about my cardigan, too,” you continue, and Mark looks at you expectantly. “Said I look breedable—y’know, like that meme?”

Mark chokes on air, his face reddening as he coughs and splutters and you just watch with growing amusement.

“He said that?” Mark squeaks, and you nod with a grin. “I mean—well—”

“Mark, are you agreeing with him?”

“Well—”

“Mark.” Your eyebrows can’t possibly be raised any more than they are now. “Are you saying I look breedable?”

“Oh, my God. How did we get on this topic?” Mark mumbles nervously, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Answer my question.” you press, and he balks.

“I’m not saying that he’s wrong.”

“So you agree? This silly little cardigan makes you wanna breed me?” You press your tongue to the inside of your cheek as you fight back a laugh.

Mark looks like he could faint. “Can we please change the topic?”

“Sure,” you reply easily, and he visibly relaxes, slumping against his chair and exhaling loudly. “You know, I think you should get another kiss.” 

He looks up at you curiously. “Yeah?”

“For your troubles,” you say, shrugging. His gaze drops from your eyes to your lips and he nods, making you smile.

Leaning down again, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, Mark turning his head at the last moment and making you kiss him on the lips. 

“For my troubles,” he repeats with a small grin, and you match his expression before an idea pops into your head.

“Maybe you should get another one.”

“Yeah, maybe I should.” He sounds breathless, and you bite back a chuckle.

“I could kiss you here,” you murmur, hovering over his mouth, and he leans forward to connect your lips, frowning when you pull back. Resting your hand on his lap and keeping it there even when he jolts, you look down at where his print is pressing against his sweats, smiling sweetly. “Or I could kiss you here.”

“Oh, shit,” Mark mumbles quietly.

“Is that a no?” you frown, and Mark chuckles, albeit nervously.

“You sound like you want to,” he says.

“Of course I want to,” you snicker. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.”

“Oh, God,” he groans, his head falling back against the chair. Taking that as a yes, you sink to your knees and start untying the string in his sweatpants. “Out in the open like this?” he asks anxiously, and you pause to think.

“You’re right,” you muse, crawling under his desk and beckoning him over. When he hesitantly scoots closer, you resume untying the string to his sweats, pulling them down enough to reveal his boxers. Looking up at him with a grin, you press a kiss over his boxers to the underside of his length, smiling when his body goes stiff. “You can go back to playing your game, y’know.”

He lets out a small groan from the back of his throat but nods, reaching for his keyboard again with hands that tremble slightly. You press small kisses over his clothed erection as he starts his game back up, waiting somewhat patiently for him to get back into his rhythm.

When he starts to grow in his boxers, you pull the band of them down to let his length spring free. It slaps against his stomach, visibly flushed, and you wrap your hand around the base, stroking him slowly before wrapping your lips around his tip, licking at the slit leaking precum.

“Oh, fuck—” Mark grunts, his head falling back against his chair as his length twitches in your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you start to bob your head up and down his shaft, taking in more of his length every time you move downward. “That feels so good—aw, hell.”

Pulling off of him with a wet pop, you look up at his face. “What happened?”

“I died,” he groans. “A fucking pukei-pukei got me.” 

“Mm,” you hum in acknowledgement as you flatten your tongue and drag it up the length of his shaft, swirling the tip of it around the head of his cock before you speak again. “I don’t know what that means,” you reply simply, taking him back into your mouth.

“You’re distracting me,” he whines, eyes darting from his screen down to you repeatedly. 

“Pretend I’m not here,” you offer helpfully.

“My dick is in your mouth.” he says flatly, staring at you blankly. “Are you serious right now?”

You pull off of him again, stroking his length with your saliva as lubricant as you lick against the slit in his tip, and he sucks in a loud breath.

“Now it’s not in your mouth.”

“You’re kind of evil, you know that?”

“No, I’m not,” you say with a teasing pout. “You’re mean.”

“I’m mean?” he asks incredulously. 

“Mhm,” you hum as you kiss down his length to his balls. He hisses loudly and his cock twitches in your hand, his body starting to curl in on itself as his abdomen constricts. You lick at them diligently and look up at his reaction, smiling as his eyes are screwed shut. 

“I can’t—fuck, I think I’m gonna—”

“Cum?” you finish for him. “Do it.”

“I can’t, dude, the bet—”

“Mark.” you say flatly, still stroking him as you speak. “I’m giving you a blowjob and you can’t stop calling me ‘dude?’”

“Sorry,” he groans, bucking his hips up towards your mouth again. 

“Just cum, Mark,” you coo, your lips pressed to the underside of his length where his tip and shaft meet. “I’ll let you finish in my mouth,” you offer, and he swears under his breath, gripping the arm of his chair so hard his knuckles turn white.

“Please don’t say that again,” he moans, and you hum questioningly.

“Say what?” you ask, feigning cluelessness. “That I want you to cum in my mouth?”

“Shit,” he gasps, his length starting to throb in your hand and against your mouth.

“I won’t tell anyone,” you whisper, and he whimpers.

“I can’t,” he grunts in defeat, and you sigh in disappointment, pulling away from his length. “No!”

“You can’t cum, right?” you remind him, and his eyes squeeze shut in distress as he looks thoroughly tortured.

“No,” he finally gets out, and you suck your teeth.

“Shame,” you say with a shrug. “What are you gonna do now?”

“Play this game and hope my boner goes down.” he mumbles defeatedly.

You nod. “Sounds good to me.” A moment or two passes before you speak again. “Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you move so I can get out from under your desk?”

“Oh, shit, yeah, sorry—” He scoots back and you get to your feet, running your fingers through his hair gently as a nonverbal apology.

“No problem,” you reply with a smile. “I’m gonna leave you to, uh, deflate your boner.”

“Deflate? It’s not a balloon animal,” Mark snorts, and you shrug.

“Whatever. Have fun with your pika-pika!”

Mark chuckles. “It’s pukei-pukei. Pika-pika is the sound Pikachu makes.”

“Oh. Pikachu is so cute; you should play Pokémon instead.”

“I’ll think about it,” he answers with a small nod. You both know he won’t.

“Good! Oh, and also?”

“Mm?”

“Put your dick away before someone else comes in.” you suggest, pointing at his lap before you wave and head out of his room.

“Thank you!” he calls out as you shut his door, almost colliding with Jaemin. 

“Sorry, Jaem!” you apologize.

Jaemin pats your arm good-naturedly. “No worries.” He doesn’t move for a moment, making you pause. 

“Is there a reason why you’re not moving?”

“I was gonna ask Mark if he wanted to play a game of Overwatch with me,” he explains, jerking his chin in the direction of Mark’s door.

“Oh! Um, he’s not ready just yet—I just got finished, um…well…”

“Yes?”

“His dick was in my mouth.”

“Ah. So he’s hard.”

“Yes.”

Jaemin nods slowly. “I’ll just text him.”

“Good idea.” 

 Monday, November 23rd. 

Your teacher bids you all goodbye and you pack up your things quickly, slinging your bag over your shoulder and waving to your teacher as you exit the classroom. You don’t have to wait long by the door for the person you’re waiting for to come out, Haechan emerging three people after you.

“Thank God we got her off topic for the last thirty minutes,” you sigh in relief, and Haechan snickers as he falls into step with you. “I don’t think I would have lasted the rest of the lecture.”

“She’s so chill, but man, do those lectures make me fall asleep.” Haechan agrees, and you nod with a laugh, squinting as you exit the building and are assaulted with the surprising brightness that is the sky at 4:30pm. 

You two get down the small set of stairs and you turn in the direction of your apartment complex. “See you later,” you say with a wave, but Haechan’s hand closes around your wrist immediately, startling you and stopping you from walking any farther. 

“Where are you going?” Haechan sounds puzzled and petulant, and you turn back around, looking from where he’s holding your wrist to his face with an expression every bit as puzzled as he sounds.

“Home,” you answer slowly, blinking at him in confusion. 

“What if we hung out?” Haechan suggests, tugging you a bit closer. “You can come over.”

“And do what?” you ask, and he pauses to think.

“I was gonna play Overwatch for a bit before I did homework; you could watch me,” he offers hopefully, and you tap your chin thoughtfully.

“Y’know, I was actually gonna go watch paint dry, and that’s kinda gonna take up my whole afternoon, so—”

“Oh, shut up and just come hang out with me,” Haechan grouches as you laugh at your own joke, eventually unable to hold back his laughter at how visibly amused you are.

“You’re just gonna ignore me for at least an hour while you play.”

“I won’t ignore you,” he promises. You don’t believe him.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, dragging out the last word, and Haechan sucks his teeth and yanks your bag off of your shoulder, slinging it onto his own. “Hello?”

“Hello.” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, and you roll your eyes. 

“Why did you take my bag?”

“I’m going home. This bag is coming with me. If you care about it, you’ll come with me.” Haechan speaks slowly, a smug little grin curling his lips when you grumble under your breath.

“Come on.” You push between his shoulder blades, guiding him forward. “Let’s go. You’d better have snacks.”

“Of course I do,” Haechan replies, offended. “Do you think I’m a monster?”

“Yes, actually, I do.”

“You little—”

“Walk!”

You feel played. Played, scammed, used, bamboozled, and any other synonyms you’re forgetting.

It’s been 45 minutes since you got to Haechan’s room, he hasn’t graced you with the sight of anything but his back as he immerses himself in his game, and you just ran out of gummy worms.

“Haechan, why did you even invite me if you’re not gonna, I don’t know, talk to me?” you complain.

“I’m almost done with this game, I swear.” Haechan assures you, and you grumble incoherently as he returns his full attention to the game, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. “Jesus fucking Christ, can Sombra get off my ass—”

“I hope Sombra gets you.” you mutter under your breath bitterly, not knowing what that even means. 

You want revenge. And, as you study Haechan’s figure from behind, you come up with a pretty good idea of how you’re going to get it. You planned to mess with him in a different way—hence your precautionary measures of wearing matching underwear and putting a bit more effort into your appearance before class today—but this new method can’t hurt.

You take off your chunky knit sweater, balling it up and chucking it at his back. He grunts at the impact and turns back to shoot you a brief affronted glare, but the irritation wipes right off his face when he takes in the sight of your thin tank top you’re wearing underneath the sweater. It leaves little to the imagination, to be frank, the neckline dipping to reveal a bit of your cleavage, and the shirt rides up easily—very easily. You lock eyes with him once he’s finished staring at your newly revealed skin and blink expectantly.

“What?”

“You hurled your thick ass sweater at me, and you have the nerve to ask me ‘what?’” Haechan snorts incredulously, and you nod.

“Yes, yes, I do.”

“When my back bruises from that attack, I’m making you kiss it better,” he huffs, turning back around to focus on the game.

“Yeah, whatever,” you mutter to yourself, already thinking about your next move. You shift positions, lying down on your stomach, making sure your shirt does its job of riding up to reveal a sliver of skin around your waist. You pick up your phone and pretend to be engrossed for a while until you sigh loudly.

Haechan turns to face you again, no doubt prepared to tell you to shut up, but—yet again—he finds himself speechless as his eyes greedily rake over your body, lingering on the bare skin of your waist and the curve of your ass in your leggings. 

“Why are you sighing?”

“I want to go home.”

“Don’t go home,” he says immediately, “I swear I’m almost done. Our DPS keeps dying and the healers keep running off on their own—”

“Oh, well, if the healers are just out here running off on their own, we can’t have that.” you snark.

If Haechan notices your sarcasm, he doesn’t comment. “Yeah, I need them to get on the goddamn payload so I can—”

“Haechan, I don’t know what any of these words mean.” you gripe, and he sighs.

“The payload is—”

“Oh, let me be clearer. I don’t know, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.” 

“Such a sassy little puppy,” Haechan snickers, and you hesitate.

“Puppy?”

“Yeah, puppy. It’s cute, like you. It fits.”

He’s got a point—it is a cute nickname. But for some reason, the fluttering feeling of delight (and budding arousal) you get in your stomach when he uses it makes you feel like being a contrarian.

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Why not?”

You balk. “I don’t like it.”

“You’ll warm up to it,” he says confidently, and you glare at him petulantly, trying your best to hide that you’ve already more than warmed up to it.

“Whatever,” you huff, and he chuckles quietly, raking his eyes over your frame again and wetting his lips before turning back around.

You can’t help but roll your eyes at how easy he is to mess with. 

You don’t make a peep for the next fifteen minutes, your silence unnerving Haechan to the point where he turns around several times unprompted. He’s not even met with eye contact from you as you essentially ignore him in his own room, and you can feel it driving him insane.

Sure enough, in a moment, the monitor he’s using goes black in your peripheral vision and he stands up, stretching before walking over to you and standing by the side of the bed.

You don’t look up. “What?”

It’s his turn to sigh now, his fingers lightly tickling at the back of your ankle as he waits to have your attention. “I’m bored.”

“Sucks.”

He sucks his teeth, fingers grazing up the back of your calf and resting in the dip behind your knee. “Play with me.”

“I don’t play video games.”

“Not video games.”

“Unless you’re feeling up to getting your ass beat in a game of checkers, I don’t know what game we could play.”

“Oh, my God, stop being difficult.” Haechan groans, squeezing the back of your thigh. 

You finally look up at him and almost wish you hadn’t. He’s looking at you like he wants to devour you and it weakens your resolve ever so slightly.

You pout up at him. “I like being difficult.”

He stares at you impassively for a moment before realization clicks on his face. “I know what this is about.” 

“What what’s about?” you reply huffily, and he grins as he moves to sit on the bed on top of you, his knees on either side of your legs. 

“You’re upset because I didn’t talk to you while I was gaming, aren’t you?” Haechan asks with a knowing lilt to his voice. 

You don’t say anything for a moment. “I am not upset,” you lie.

“Aw,” Haechan coos, both hands gliding up the backs of your thighs and stopping just below your ass. You feel him shift on top of you and a moment later, his breath fans over your ear. “Did puppy need my attention?”

The way you tense under him is surely noticeable, and that annoyingly pleased fluttering feeling in your stomach returns. However, you’re still annoyed with him.

“Don’t call me that.” you grouch, and he chuckles, lips brushing your ear ever so lightly before he sits back up.

“Stop liking it, and maybe I won't.” Haechan retorts, and you say nothing yet again, scrolling aimlessly through Twitter. He lets the silence hang between you two as he kneads the backs of your thighs, but breaks it when he brings his hands to trace his fingers along the bare skin between your shirt and your leggings. “It’s the middle of fall and you’re in this flimsy little shirt.”

“It’s called wearing layers, nincompoop.”

“It’s practically as thin as toilet paper,” he quips back, and you huff as he pushes it up to reveal more of your back. “I could rip this right off of you,” he muses thoughtfully.

“Do not let the intrusive thoughts win, Haechan,” you comment drily, and he hums softly in acknowledgement, although it sounds awfully dismissive. “And put my shirt back down.”

“It’s not like it’s serving any purpose.” Haechan counters, and you groan, moving to sit up. Haechan presses down on your back between your shoulder blades, flattening you against the bed once more, and you let out an irritated sigh. “Only thing it’s doing is turning me on, actually.”

“That sounds awfully personal.”

“Oh, you’re so cute when you’re being a brat.” Haechan pretends to swoon and you snicker despite yourself. “Come on, I’m bored!” He shifts his weight to his heels so he’s not sitting on you anymore and smacks your ass once, ignoring your yelp as he rolls you onto your back. 

“That sounds,” you say slowly, deliberately stressing every syllable as you look up at him with a bored expression, “like a you problem.”

“I’m about to make it your problem, actually.” Haechan smiles down at you, shifting his weight forward again so he’s sitting on your thighs. “Because in addition to being bored, now I’m feeling a little riled up from this little outfit you have on.”

“So?” 

“So,” Haechan stresses the word as he leans down closer to you, “I need you to be a good puppy—”

“Stop calling me that—”

“—and indulge me for a bit.” He finishes his sentence in a softer voice than he started out with, nudging the tip of your nose with his playfully. “Gimme a kiss.”

He advances on you even further, lips now but a breath away from each other, and flicks at your bottom lip with his tongue. You play coy, having fun with riling him up, and turn your head to the side to avoid his kiss.

“Aw, come on, puppy.” Haechan teases affectionately, his nose tracing down your jawline before he brushes his parted lips against your neck. “Don’t get all shy on me now. Where’d that attitude go?”

“Still here,” you mumble stubbornly, and he chuckles.

“So let me give you the attention you so desperately wanted earlier,” he offers, sounding more smug than ever, and you splutter indignantly, turning back to glare at him.

“I was not desperate—” you begin to protest, but Haechan flashes you a triumphant grin before leaning in and sealing the gap between his lips and yours. You whine almost instantly under him, body thrumming with excitement as he moves his lips against yours and teases them apart to guide his tongue into your mouth.

When his tongue strokes against yours for the first time, he groans in delight and breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you both take deep breaths. 

“You taste like candy.” Haechan murmurs appreciatively.

“It’s probably the gummy worms,” you remind him, and he nods thoughtfully. 

“Well, whatever it is, I can’t get enough of it,” he confesses, barely giving you a chance to respond before he’s kissing you again. His hips pin yours to the bed, his body pressing down on yours so firmly that you’re not sure if you could get up on your own.

Not that you’re complaining.

His hand moves quickly, on a mission as he slips it between you two and slides under the waistband of your leggings. He strokes at your core through the underwear, a wicked smile curling his lips when he feels the damp spot from your arousal.

“Poor puppy,” he coos in mock sympathy, pressing against your clit hard enough to make you whimper. “All you wanted was my attention, yeah?”

“Don’t call me puppy,” you whine, and he kisses down your neck to suck and kiss above your pulse point.

“I know you like it,” he pants, his breath fanning over your neck, “you know you like it; why fight it?”

“Shut up,” you complain, your hips moving up to meet his teasing touches. 

“Fine,” Haechan murmurs, seeming to let it go (which you find suspicious). “How about ‘baby?’”

“I like ‘baby,’” you mumble, jolting in surprise when he finds your clit through your underwear. “‘Baby’ is good.”

“Glad we agree.” He doesn’t say much else, returning his attention to occupying his lips, which are lazily mouthing at your neck, and fingers, which are teasingly dipping into your underwear. 

Getting fed up with his taunting, you squeeze your legs together tightly, letting out a small “hmph” of finality, and he chuckles, withdrawing his fingers.

“I knew you wanted to play.” He nips at your neck one last time before lifting his head and ghosting his lips against yours. His fingers dig between where your thighs meet, poking, prodding, and pinching as he tries to force his hand between your legs. “Baby,” he purrs, voice low and sweet, “be good and let me in.”

You just huff again, trying (and ultimately failing) to suppress your growing smile at his persistent attack on your legs.

“Fine,” he says with a shrug, retracting his hand from between your legs. “You leave me no choice.” His fingers immediately press into your sides, tickling you, and you shriek with laughter, squirming helplessly under him. 

He watches you with a glint in his eyes and a grin on his face as he sits up, now using both hands to torment you.

You, meanwhile, have tears welling up in your eyes from how hard you’re laughing, and you weakly hit at his chest, your muscles seizing up from the attack.

“Stop!” you gasp, pushing at his hands desperately. “I’m sorry!”

“Are you really?” He raises an eyebrow, and you nod vigorously in agreement.

“I am! I’m so—please—I’m so sorry!” you cry pleadingly, and he moves so quickly that you don’t even get time to process the situation until he’s done. He pushes your hands above your head, gripping your wrists with one hand, and brings his free hand back between your legs.

“So you’ll be good?” That damn eyebrow is getting to you, the brow still raised as he cocks his head at you.

“Yes,” you say with a frown, and he coos in mock sympathy, kissing you and slipping his hand into your underwear. He looks down at where your bodies meet and traces circles all over your skin, slowly inching lower and lower until he brushes past your clit and parts your folds, looking back up at you with a cocky smile.

“You’re already so wet,” he teases, wetting his lips before he dips his head down to kiss your neck. “Do you want me inside?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and he grins against your neck.

“Yeah? Want my fingers inside you?” He’s teasing you again, urging you to ask for his fingers, and your patience starts to dwindle.

“Yes,” you repeat through your clenched teeth.

He hums thoughtfully and pushes his fingers into you slowly, removing his lips from your neck to watch you as you moan in relief. “That’s a good puppy,” he purrs as he drinks in your reactions to his experimental movements of his fingers. 

“Not puppy,” you whine, but he silences you with a kiss, moving his fingers in and out of you quickly. 

“I think you like it,” he mumbles, biting down on your bottom lip gently before bringing his lips to your ear. “Don’t you, puppy?” Your moan slips out accidentally, and he inhales sharply when you clench around his fingers. “Knew it.”

His fingers curl inside of you slowly, drawing out a whimper from you as he strokes along your inner walls, in search of your most sensitive spot. Your hips rock up into his hand, craving more of him, and he responds by pushing your hips back down and giving you exactly what you want. He pushes his fingers deeper, as deep as they can go, and his fingers finally find the spot along your walls that makes you moan and clutch at his arm desperately.

“There—right there—fuck,” you say breathlessly, and he nods, keeping his pace and using his thumb to massage your clit in eager circles that bring you closer to your climax.

“You wanna cum?” Haechan coos, and you nod vigorously, making a smirk curl his lips. “Say you’re my puppy.”

“Wh-what?” You stammer, confused, and he slows his pace, making you grasp his arm tightly in panic. “Don’t stop!”

“What are you?” he presses, moving at a frustratingly slow rhythm. You cry out weakly, and he raises an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“I’m—Haechan, please—”

“Say it, and I’ll make you feel so good. Whose puppy are you?”

“I’m yours—” you whimper, and he nods encouragingly.

“My what?”

“Your puppy, Haechan, please—” you beg, and he grins widely, nodding again.

“Cum for me, puppy.” Haechan urges you, and you finally let go, the coil in your stomach snapping and letting pleasure wash over you. Your nails dig into Haechan’s arm so hard that you’re sure you’ll owe him an apology, and he hisses, the sound a mixture of pain and pleasure, as you whimper his name and “please” over and over again. “God, I want to feel that when I’m inside you so bad.”

“You can,” you say with a smile, propping yourself up on your forearms. “You can fuck me.”

“Fuck, don’t say that,” Haechan grunts, his expression tortured. “I can’t—”

“You can,” you urge, pushing yourself up onto your hands and bringing your face to his. “You don’t even have to fuck me entirely—you can just put in the tip.” When he opens his eyes and looks at you, his expression is defeated, hopeful, and delightedly vulnerable. “Come on, Haechan. Just the tip,” you murmur, your lips a centimeter apart.

He stares at your lips in a daze before nodding slowly. “Just the tip.”

He makes quick work of discarding his pants and pushing his boxers down so his length springs up and lightly slaps against his stomach, and he looks up at you and chuckles, the sound a bit bashful. “Stop looking at me like that.” 

You hadn’t realized you were looking at him in any particular way. “Like what?”

“Like you’re about to eat me alive.” Haechan mumbles, and you smile.

“So, the way you look at me all the time?”

“Yeah, like that.” Haechan grins cheekily and hovers over you, his hand moving to the base of his length and gripping it. When you don’t move and stay propped up, watching him with a challenge in your eyes, he pauses. “What is it?”

“I wanna be on top,” you reply simply, and he shakes his head.

“Too bad. I wanna be on top.” 

You stare at him defiantly.

He stares back at you stubbornly.

You raise an eyebrow.

He looks from your eyes to your lips and back up before he groans in defeat and sits against his headboard. “Fine.”

“Yay,” you say with a wide smile, shimmying out of your leggings and underwear and moving to straddle his lap. You wrap your hand around his on his length and slowly stroke him up and down. “You’re so big, Haechan.”

“Thank you, puppy,” Haechan coos teasingly, bumping his nose against yours as you position yourself on top of him, bringing the head of his length to your entrance. He rubs the tip against your folds, collecting your arousal to use as a lubricant. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, easing yourself down. To your disappointment, Haechan uses his fist as an obstacle to prevent you from sitting all the way down on his length, so you really do get just the tip. The stretch isn’t unwelcome at all, your walls slowly adjusting to his size, and you let out a shaky moan that he echoes when you clench around him. “Feels so good, Haechan,” you mumble, resting your forehead against his. 

“So fucking good, baby.” Haechan agrees, his fist slipping a bit further down his length and making him hiss. 

“Just a little more? It’ll be okay, I just need a little more,” you plead, pouting for good measure, and his face scrunches up in thought. “Please?” You tilt his head up and carefully slot your lips with his, kissing him slowly but deeply as your walls tighten around him.

“Just a little more,” Haechan gives in with a shudder, and you smile as you ease down further, Haechan groaning and thumping his head against his headboard repeatedly in distress. “Maybe a little more, baby.” 

You can barely hide your sneaky smile as you oblige, easing down on his length even more, and he moans weakly, his head tipping back. You lean forward and kiss his neck, sucking lovely little marks into his skin, and he grabs your hips with both hands, fingers digging into the skin as he tilts his head back more to allow you better access.

“More?” Your lips are pressed to his heated skin as you speak, and he groans before shaking his head.

“I can’t, baby. Feels like I’m gonna cum,” he grunts, and you whine as you squeeze around him, carefully studying his reactions. His hips hold you firmly in place so you can’t move further down on him, and his breathing is heavy, eyes screwed shut. “Fuck—do not do that again.”

“Do what? This?” You clench again, and he lets out a strangled groan, hands squeezing your hips harder as a warning. “What about this?” You lift yourself up, pulling off of him most of the way, and sitting back down. He swears so loudly that you momentarily hope no one else is home and his resolve visibly weakens, his hold on your hips loosening enough to let you slowly ease down all the way onto him, a relieved sigh escaping you as he shudders, a moan vibrating in his chest. “Just cum, Haechan,” you coax in his ear, nipping at the lobe gently. “You know you want to.”

“I’m not losing this bet.” He sounds determined, but even a fool could detect the waver in his resilience. 

“But doesn’t this feel so good?” You rock your hips forward onto him, and he exhales loudly through gritted teeth, nodding vigorously.

“Feels amazing, baby.” Haechan agrees, finally tipping his head forward to look at you. “Which is why you’re going to cum, and I’m going to watch.”

“Only way I’m going to cum is if you do it with me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Haechan snorts dismissively, and you raise an eyebrow, already pulling off of him. His eyes fly open and he yanks you back down onto him, realizing a moment too late what he’s done. Pleasure shoots through his body so strongly that you can practically track its movement through the shudders that travel through him, and he drops his head onto your chest in defeat.

“Are you gonna cum?” you ask, and he shakes his head hesitantly, making you sigh. “Then I’m leaving.” Before he can move to stop you, you push his hands off of you and pull off of him, toughening up to mask the strange, now empty sensation between your legs. 

“God, you’re evil.” He stares at you, aghast, and you shrug, pulling on your leggings and underwear. You climb off of the bed and grab your sweater from where it fell after hitting Haechan, and his eyes widen. “You’re seriously leaving?” 

“Yep.”

“At least—” he starts, and you hesitate as you prepare to pull your sweater over your head. “At least let me make you cum again,” he offers, wild eyes roving over you desperately. “With my mouth.”

“As tempting as that sounds,” you hum, pulling the sweater over your head and fixing it at the bottom, “no. You might pounce on me afterwards, and if you’re not cumming, it’s no fun.”

“Okay, fair. I definitely might pounce on you.” Haechan sighs, rubbing his chin as he watches you get ready to leave. “You’d let me though; you can’t resist me.”

“What makes you think that?” You laugh, and he looks at you with an unimpressed stare.

“I just seduced the fuck out of you,” he points out, and you barely stifle your laugh.

“Haechan.” You stare at him incredulously. “Do you seriously think this was all your idea?”

“Duh?”

You sigh, lifting up your sweater and shirt enough to show him your lacy blue bra. His eyes widen before they darken, and you roll your eyes as he wets his lips, shifting closer to you. You drop your shirt and sweater back into place and pull your leggings down just enough to give him a peek of your lacy underwear in the identical shade of blue. “I wore matching underwear today. This was never not my intention.” You fix your clothing again as he gapes at you in disbelief.

“So you used me for my body?!” Haechan exclaims, his horrified expression dropping in favor of a pensive one. “Why is that kind of hot?”

You pause in the middle of lacing up your boots, shooting him a concerned look. “I think the counseling office is still open if you wanna book a session.”

“Ha, ha.” Haechan laughs sarcastically, scooting to the edge of his bed. You look around for your bag, and he gestures to it sitting just by his bed. You go over to look through it for your headphones, and Haechan eyes you wordlessly as you do.

“Anyway, I have business to attend to.” You straighten up with your headphones in your hand and shoulder your bag, moving to leave. Haechan’s hand shoots out and grabs your arm, yanking you back to him so you’re standing between his legs. He’s readjusted his pants, you notice, and he’s staring up at you with a doubtful frown.

“What business do you have to attend to?” He pokes his fingers through the knitting of your sweater with a petulant expression. “If you say watching paint dry again, I swear to God—”

“Relax, it’s not watching paint dry.” You laugh and he chuckles, not looking up at you yet. “My business is being somewhere that’s not here.”

“You little—”

“Besides,” you continue loudly as if he hasn’t interjected, “I have my vibrator waiting at home to finish what you started.” Haechan stills, slowly looking up at you and scanning your face for any sign of a joke.

You give no such indication, and he closes his eyes and breathes in loudly through his nose, exhaling out of his mouth. He releases you, eyes gazing at you with an unreadable expression. “Yeah, you’d better get going.”

“Why the sudden change?” you ask curiously, and he shamelessly looks you up and down.

“I’m feeling…pounce-y.” 

“Okay, then!” You nod in understanding and step back, backing towards his door. “Have fun thinking about…whatever you gotta think about to make that go away,” you snicker, gesturing at the obvious bulge in his pants.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Haechan grumbles bitterly, standing up and making his way over to his gaming chair. “See you later.”

“Bye,” you sing-song, wiggling your fingers at him in a wave. “I’ll think of you while I do it.”

“If you don’t get out of my room—”

“Okay, bye!” 

Friday, November 28th. 

You’re sitting at home pretending to do your homework when your phone lights up. You practically pounce on it, eager for a distraction, and look at your lock screen to see a text message from Mark.

mark: hey

you: hiii i’m bored

mark: me too 

mark: i’m at work on my lunch break

you: ohhh i’m “doing homework”

mark: hahaha that doesn’t sound fun

you: it’s not :/ this essay is due december 3rd though so i gotta get it done

mark: december’s so close wow

mark: i’m so happy november’s almost over

And with his last text, Mark gives you a very good idea of how you could best spend your time this afternoon. You root through your underwear drawer and take out one of your nicer sets of underwear and a bra, putting them on and putting your old t-shirt back on, ditching the sweatpants you were wearing. 

you: yeah

you: hey mark can you help me choose something?

mark: sure what’s up?

Actually, why not mess with both of them at the same time?

you: actually hang on one sec

[you have created a group chat.]

[you have added ‘mark’ to the chat.]

[you have added ‘haechan’ to the chat.]

you: hii i need your opinions on something

mark: why the group chat haha

you: it’s faster than texting you both separately :)

haechan: what’s up? i’m in class right now

A mischievous smile curls your lips as you take a picture of your outfit, making sure the t-shirt is high up enough on your thighs to make it clear there are no shorts underneath. 

you: should i wear this to sleep?

you: Attachment: 1 image

haechan: oh my god

mark: shit

you: or should i take the t-shirt off?

haechan: take it off.

mark: haechan shut up it’s still november

you: what do you think, mark?

mark: keep the shirt on 

mark: please. i’m still at work

you: :( but it’s hot in my room

haechan: yeah mark it’s hot in her room

haechan: take it off, baby

mark: dude do you like being blue balled or something 

You pull the t-shirt off and toss it on your chair by your desk, angling your body to take the most flattering picture of your lingerie set. When you’re satisfied with the picture, you send it to the group chat, giggling as you wait for their responses.

you: Attachment: 1 image

you: is this better?

haechan: you are so fucking hot

haechan: mark tell her how hot she is

mark: don’t tell me what to do haechan

haechan: i will not get cheated out of nudes because you don’t know how to give a compliment

you: it’s okay, haechan :p mark’s at work so he’s busy too 

mark: exactly. you look very attractive btw

[you loved ‘exactly. you look very attractive btw’]

[haechan disliked ‘exactly. you look very attractive btw’]

haechan: “very attractive” what a nerd

haechan: you should just text me now. mark’s ungrateful

mark: haechan shut. the fuck. up.

you: thank you mark :) should i do what haechan says?

haechan: yes do what haechan says

mark: haechan i will piss in your shampoo

mark: don’t you dare stop texting this group chat

you: oooh bossy 

you: that’s hot

haechan: god i can’t stop looking at those pictures baby

you: i’m glad you like them :) but i have another problem now :(

mark: what’s that?

haechan: what’s wrong?

you: i’m lonely :( i’m home all alone with no one to keep me company

mark: you’re killing me

mark: you’re actually going to be the death of me

haechan: ignore him keep talking

haechan: god i wish i wasn’t in class right now

you: yeah? where do you wish you were?

haechan: honestly? 

haechan: with you. on you. under you. in you for sure

mark: haechan in front of my lunch? seriously?

haechan: not my fault you don’t have game

mark: dude stop testing me

you: mark i wish you were here too :(

mark: oh my god don’t do this someone just walked into the break room

Another idea comes to you, and you angle the camera at your body again, this time starting a video. You cup your breast and squeeze it, humming contently before trailing your hand down your stomach and between your legs where you slip it into your underwear, sighing in relief right as you stop filming.

you: Attachment: 1 video

mark: no fucking way

haechan: oh my god

There’s a pause in their replies as they presumably watch the video you sent and you take the moment of silence to think about your next moves.

haechan: you sound so pretty

haechan: so fucking pretty baby

mark: i’m going to pass out i think

mark: why are you doing this???

you: because i like when you both pay attention to me. remember?

haechan: i can pay attention to you way better than mark can

mark: you can’t even pay attention to the damn class you’re in right now.

haechan: who gives a rat’s ass what Professor Park has to say when there’s a hot girl’s pictures in my phone??????

haechan: anyway. baby can i hear you again?

mark: dude i’m getting hard right now can you not 

you: stop calling me dude :(

mark: sorry

mark: what should i call you?

you: up to you—just not dude

mark: okay

you: or bro

mark: aw hell

While Mark takes the time to think, you send a video of your legs slowly spreading as your hand moves in your underwear, concealing what they undoubtedly want to see most as you play with your clit. When the pleasure starts to build, you let out a small whimper and speed your movements up, stopping the video right after your legs close around your hand reflexively.

you: Attachment: 1 video

haechan: god thank you so much

haechan: such pretty sounds baby

mark: babe please my dick is so hard right now 

haechan: join the club i’ve been straining against my pants for the past five minutes

you: pics or it didn’t happen

haechan: Attachment: 1 image

mark: i’m in public!!!!!

haechan: and you think i’m not??? 

mark: i can’t send a pic right now

haechan: pussy.

mark: fuck you

mark: Attachment: 1 image

You smile in satisfaction at the sight of both of their pictures. Mark’s picture is of him both gripping and trying to conceal the noticeable bulge in his pants, while Haechan is proudly gripping the base of his shaft, not even trying to hide himself.

you: thank you :) god you’re both so big

you: wish i had you both taking turns filling me up :(

haechan: why stop at taking turns?

you: i like the way you think

mark: okay this is fun and all but i need this boner to go down immediately i have to go back to work soon

you: okay! i’ll stop :)

haechan: WHAT

haechan: NO

haechan: i have like twenty minutes left of class please keep sending gifts baby

you: no i can’t :/ mark’s got a point—you shouldn’t be getting hard in public

you: it’s public indecency :////

haechan: fuck the public

you: fuck me instead

haechan: don’t tempt me

you: too bad it’s still november :( have fun not jerking off

mark: wait a minute

mark: you’ve been fucking with us on purpose all month haven’t you

you: ? idk what you’re talking about

mark: oh my god

haechan: wait mark’s right

you: :( okay you got me

you: are you mad at me :(

mark: no you’re just in for it

haechan: for once i agree with mark. watch your back baby

you: pfft watch my back for what? yOuR rEvEnGe?

mark: yeah just keep laughing babe. i gotta go back to work

you: i’m gonna go finish myself off then finish my essay. have fun with your boners! :)

haechan: you’re actually wicked

you: :(

haechan: it’s hot.

you: :)

You put your phone down and reach into your nightstand drawer for your vibrator, giggling under your breath as you think about the conversation you just had. Sure, they figured out you were making things hard—no pun intended—for them on purpose, and they’re probably going to get some sort of revenge, but you figure that’s a problem for Future You to handle.

 Tuesday, December 1st.

Yeah, so…it is now officially a problem for Future You to handle. 

When Haechan texted you asking if you wanted to get lunch with him, you almost agreed before remembering the last interaction you had when you sent him videos and pictures of yourself while he was in class.

When you declined, and his response was “smart girl,” you realized you may be in a bit over your head.

If that wasn’t bad enough, you caught Mark staring at you with an unreadable look from across the student center when you went to meet Lia for lunch (an hour after Haechan asked you, to avoid seeing him). When he started to make his way over to you, you grabbed Lia’s wrist and disappeared into the throng of people passing by.

If that wasn’t bad enough, in your last class you went to, you saw Haechan looking in the window, smirking when he caught sight of you. He brought his index and middle finger to his mouth, spread them, and wagged his tongue between them in an obscene gesture that had you gasping and drawing the attention of your seatmate. When you looked back at the window, he was gone, but your phone lit up with a text. 

haechan: found you :)

So you’ve spent the last half of your day hiding in your apartment, turning off your phone location and holing yourself up in your room.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?” Yeji snickers when you jump at the sound of the doorbell. Lia pats your hand comfortingly before she heads over to get the door.

“You didn’t see how they looked at me today!” you whisper-yell back at her, brows furrowing.

“No, she’s got a point,” Lia chimes in, drawing your and Yeji’s attention as she returns from getting the door with a package in her arms. After a moment, she continues, “I mean, Mark was…I’ve never seen him look like that.”

“Right?!” you exclaim, relieved Lia gets it.

“I mean, worst case scenario is that they fuck you. And if this month has been any indication, you clearly want that, so—”

“Yeah, but what if they team up and get all evil?” you counter, and Lia scoffs.

“Threesomes are rarer than people think. What are the odds they’re both gonna decide to team up and share you?” Lia replies, and you frown.

“Yeji, back me up here!” you whine, looking at her, but she raises both hands and walks towards the hallway. 

“I’m going to my room. As a wise man once said, ‘no fighting.’”

You and Lia pause. 

“Who said that?” Lia raises an eyebrow and you both stare at Yeji in confusion.

“Wyclef Jean.” Yeji answers. You and Lia look at each other and back at Yeji. “In ‘Hips Don’t Lie’ by Shakira?” she tries again. You and Lia stare at her blankly. “Forget it. No one in this house appreciates my genius.” She turns and heads off to her room and a moment passes between you and Lia before she stands up as well, walking backwards towards the hallway leading to her room.

“You’re safe,” Lia assures you. As she turns around and walks away, you hear her mutter, “probably.”

“Hey!”

About an hour later, the doorbell rings again.

“Can someone get that?” Lia calls out from the bathroom. “It’s probably my other package!”

“Why can’t you get it?” Yeji calls back.

“I’m getting dressed from taking a shower!”

You and Yeji emerge from your rooms for a quick round of rock, paper, scissors—which you lose.

“Damn it.” You roll your eyes and walk to the front door as Yeji heads back to her room. You open the door to see no one—but there is a package on your doorstep like Lia said. 

“This girl and her online shopping addiction,” you mumble, stooping to pick it up. You move to shut the door but it stops unexpectedly, a shoe jammed in the way. Your eyes widen. 

You know that shoe.

“Oh, shit.” 

The body attached to the familiar shoe shoulders his way past the door, Haechan standing in front of you with raised eyebrows and a smug smile.

“Oh, shit.” Haechan echoes you tauntingly, stepping towards you. You watch as Mark enters after him, shutting the door behind himself. 

You look at them.

They look at you.

You turn on your heel, drop the package, and make a run for it.

You take off down the hallway to your room as their rapid footsteps thunder after you. You can’t help but shriek in panic (and, if you’re honest, a bit of delight) as they chase you further into the apartment, your heart racing as you clear your doorway and turn to shut the door. 

One of them is quicker, however, and shoves his shoulder in the space, keeping the door from shutting. Unfortunately, the two of them are stronger than you, you learn very quickly as they force the door wide open and bombard their way into the room. 

Haechan wastes absolutely no time, stepping forward and shoving you none too gently onto your bed before climbing on top of you. It feels like there’s a scream stuck in your throat as he roughly pins your arms above your head with one hand, cupping your chin with the other. 

Bringing his lips to your ear, Haechan speaks slowly, stressing every syllable. “We’re gonna fuck the shit out of you.” Mark’s busying himself with sliding his hands up your thighs and yanking your shorts down your legs, and you wriggle under Haechan’s body, crossing your legs stubbornly.

“Yeji and Lia are home!” you exclaim, raising your voice in an attempt to get the attention of at least one of them. As if on cue, you hear the unmistakable sound of the front door unlocking.

“No, we’re not!” Lia calls out, and the door slams shut, the locks clicking into place.

“Oh, fuck.” You can barely get the words out before Haechan seals his lips over yours, kissing you deeply. 

“You are such a tease,” Mark grunts through gritted teeth, presumably giving you a taste of your own medicine as he wrenches your legs apart. The thrill of being chased with the inevitable ending of getting fucked stupid has you positively buzzing with excitement, some of that excitement manifesting as a slick little damp stain on the seat of your underwear. 

You move to protest, but Haechan slips his tongue in your mouth the second your lips part, your complaint melting against his tongue as he works the pink muscle against your own.

Mark’s chuckle lets you know he’s caught sight of the wet spot, and he presses two fingers against the stain, pushing the digits against you so insistently that you could almost swear Mark is trying to finger you with your flimsy underwear as a condom.

“Left us high and dry so many times last month,” Haechan scolds you, mouth still pressed against yours. “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

“Bet you had fun thinking about blue-balling us, didn’t you?” Mark asks, and you jerk your head to the side to break the kiss Haechan refuses to let up on, loudly sucking in a greedy breath before you speak.

“I did.” you retort, smiling sweetly. “I had some really good orgasms thinking about you two, too.” 

“You can be smug all you want,” Haechan chuckles, his lips sponging wet kisses down your jaw to your neck. “Let’s see how smug you are when we’re done with you.” His words excite you even more, an eager whimper falling from your lips as Mark withdraws his fingers from you and pulls your underwear to the side. 

You feel the warmth of his breath as he exhales against your core and it makes you that much more impatient, letting out a grunt of frustration as you buck your hips up towards his mouth. 

“You played with us all of November,” Haechan reminds you, pushing your hips back down. “It’s our turn to play with you.”

“Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy,” Mark groans as he rests what you assume to be his cheek on your inner thigh, depriving you of any sort of actual contact. 

“Oh, my God, do something!” you complain after a painfully long time of waiting. It was probably less than fifteen seconds, really, but you’re incredibly worked up and not in the mood to take your time.

“Haechan, shut her up.” Mark mutters, and Haechan chuckles. 

“Gladly.” he replies, and two fingers are pressing at your lips insistently. “Open up.” Any other time, you’d have the wherewithal to be embarrassed by how easily you comply with his order, but today, you’ll let it slide. Your lips part readily and your tongue lolls out, Haechan humming in impressed delight as he presses the pads of his fingers to your tongue. 

You suck on his fingers lazily, your eyes already glazing over with pleasure from having some sort of touch, and Mark takes the opportunity to attach his mouth to your core, dragging his tongue up and down your folds with an almost animalistic fervor. 

Your moan of surprise is muffled by Haechan’s fingers as he releases your wrists, pulls your shirt up past your breasts, and slips his hand under you to unclip your bra with surprising ease. He yanks your bra off with rushed, jerky movements, immediately latching onto your nipple and sucking at the stiffened bud, swirling his tongue around it.

“Shit,” you whine, muffled still by Haechan’s fingers, and he just chuckles from around your nipple, the resulting vibrations feeling heavenly. 

Mark’s tongue explores your folds as he groans, loud and pleased, the almost ticklish sensation making arousal flutter in the pit of your stomach. He tucks one of your legs over his shoulder, moving in so close that when his tongue prods at your entrance, his nose rubs against your clit.

Haechan flicks your nipple back and forth with his tongue, his free hand groping your other breast and pinching at the bud until you hiss in pleasure and arch your back. He buries his face in your chest at the same time that Mark’s tongue pushes past your entrance and you squeal in delight, your hands both flying to their heads, tugging their hair to pull them closer to you.

Mark’s so lost in the sensation of his tongue peeking inside your core and the taste of you that he barely notices, a weak groan slipping out presumably without his knowledge. Haechan, however, responds by taking your nipple between his teeth and biting down ever so slightly until you try to squirm away, at which point he kisses it and switches to your other breast to repeat his earlier ministrations.

You’re on cloud nine at this point, your hips rolling up to get you closer to Mark’s mouth, and he lets out a noise somewhere between a growl and a moan as he throws one arm over your stomach to pin you in place, his tongue retreating from your core in favor of lapping at the arousal leaking from you.

“You like that, yeah?” Mark’s voice is throaty, thick from desire and lack of use, and when you whimper in affirmation, he lets out a breathless but cocky laugh before pushing two fingers into you, guiding the digits into you with no prior warning and carefully working you open as you get used to the slight stretch. “Yeah, I know you fucking like it,” he murmurs more to himself than you, his mind reeling with how his lips are still carrying the taste of you as he opens you up with his fingers, pumping and curling them rhythmically. 

Haechan sits up, moving off of you to kneel by your side, pulls his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva webbing between his fingers and your lips, and chuckles smugly as he smears the spit over your lips messily. Your cheeks burn in humiliation when he swipes under your lips to display more spit on his fingers.

“Mark, she’s drooling.” Haechan says with a mischievous sort of glee, and Mark hums in acknowledgement, brows furrowed in concentration as he finger-fucks you. “You’re making a pathetic little mess of yourself and you haven’t even cum yet.”

Mark meets your gaze, grinning with bright eyes before leaning down to suck your clit into his mouth, rapidly flicking it with his tongue as his fingers pump in and out of you rapidly, curled just right to hit your most sensitive spot that has you crying out in pleasure.

Haechan pinches your chin and shakes your head from side to side abruptly, wordlessly diverting your attention away from Mark and back to him. “What do we say when we make such a mess, hm?”

“S-Sorry,” you gasp, clutching the bedsheets in your fist as Mark’s fingers speed up. 

“Are we gonna keep making a mess?” Haechan pouts condescendingly before shaking your head from side to side. “No, we’re not? Are you sure, puppy?” He nods your head and tuts disapprovingly. “I don’t think I believe you.” He taps your cheek with two fingers and you open your mouth. “Tongue.” You comply, laying your tongue out flat, and he leans over you and lets a string of saliva drip from his lips onto your tongue. 

You whine in desperation at the warm sensation of the spit, but let it slide to the back of your throat without swallowing. Haechan brings his fingers back to your lips, bringing his face directly in front of yours, and pushes them to the back of your throat, smiling in satisfaction when you choke and cough, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

“What’d I say?” Haechan teases matter-of-factly. “So fucking sloppy.” He retracts his fingers again and studies your face with fascination as you swallow thickly. 

“Sorry,” you say shamefully, your eyes threatening to shut from the sensations Mark is causing between your legs, and Haechan lets out a small chuckle, leaning even closer to you.

“You’re lucky I like it messy.” He kisses you again, deep and hot and wet and filthy with sinful moans into your mouth that you inadvertently echo as Mark brings you closer and closer to a climax.

“Please, oh, fuck—I’m gonna cum—” you moan against Haechan’s lips, practically trembling with need, and Mark only offers a grunt in response, making lewd wet noises as he laps at your core with an almost feral determination you’ve never seen from him before. 

“Cum, puppy. Cum all over Mark’s fingers.” Haechan murmurs, punctuating his words with increasingly needier kisses, and you do cum—hard, as a matter of fact. In an attempt to keep your volume down, you bite down on your bottom lip so hard that you’re surprised it doesn’t break the skin. Haechan tugs your lip free just in time for you to cry out loudly when Mark doesn’t stop, fingers still fucking into you and mouth still on your clit. 

You push at Mark’s shoulders in a panic, but he barely budges, Haechan helping him out by catching your hands and holding them in place on the bed. Mark removes his lips from your core with a wet smacking sound and presses down on your lower abdomen with his free hand, heightening your pleasure practically tenfold, and you’re downright ashamed of the volume of the cry you let out.

“Stop,” you pant, squirming frantically under their firm hold on you, “that feels—oh, my God, I’m gonna—”

“Are you gonna cum again?” Haechan coos patronizingly, and you shake your head vehemently.

“Feels like I’m gonna piss myself or pass the fuck out—” You muster all your strength and wrestle one of your hands free from Haechan’s grip to grab the wrist of Mark’s hand that’s pressing on your lower stomach. “Oh, shit, please—”

“Keep going, Mark,” Haechan urges, watching you in awe. “Maybe she’ll squirt.” The gleam in his eyes both terrifies and excites you as a second, stronger climax builds inside of you. 

“I’m sorry!” You sob, your voice cracking. “I’m sorry for messing with you for all of last month!”

“I bet you are sorry.” Mark mutters through clenched teeth, darkened eyes rapidly shifting from your core to your face. “Too bad we’re not done with you.”

As if on cue, your second orgasm hits you and it takes everything in you not to burst into tears from the overwhelming pleasure. Your body exerts practically all of its energy by trying to curl in on itself protectively, your body still subconsciously fucking back onto Mark’s fingers in search of every last bit of pleasure you can draw from him.

Finally having mercy, Mark pulls his fingers from you and shakes his other hand free of your grip, standing up straight and watching along with Haechan as you attempt to recover.

“You didn’t piss yourself or pass out.” Haechan points out, brows furrowed to match his petulant frown.

“You sound disappointed,” you half-exhale, half-laugh, trying and failing to prop yourself up on your weak feeling arms. “I also didn’t squirt like you wanted.”

“The night’s still young,” Haechan responds, and you blanch, trying to sit up again in alarm.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious, actually.” Mark pipes up, and you look between them with a mix of fear and anticipation swirling in your stomach. “You blue-balled us, what…seven times? More?”

“All together, it was eight times between the both of us.” Haechan points out, and you let out a strangled shriek, shaking your head as hard as you can.

“For the love of God, if you try to make me cum eight times today, I think my clit will actually break off or something.”

“Relax.” Haechan lies down next to you, trailing the backs of his fingers down your body between your breasts and down your stomach. “We’ll make you pay it off, like a debt. You can pay in installments.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at you as his fingers draw closer to your throbbing core, and you smack his hand away, dramatically flopping over onto your stomach in a last-ditch attempt to protect yourself.

“You’re both insane,” you complain, words muffled by your faceful of pillow. “I can’t cum again.” 

“You can,” Mark says, sounding much closer than before, and two hands grip your hips, lifting you up onto your knees. “And you will.”

“Oh, dear Neptune,” you whine, bracing yourself on your elbows. 

Haechan snickers. “Whining and complaining, but you still got into position like a good little puppy.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, and you feel Mark positioning himself behind you on the bed, one hand pressing down on the small of your back to deepen your arch, and both males groan appreciatively.

“You look so good like this,” Mark grunts, pressing the head of his length to your entrance and rubbing it up and down your embarrassingly wet folds, collecting arousal to use as lubrication. 

Without so much as a warning, Mark grips your hip with one hand and guides himself into you, smoothly bottoming out. You both react strongly, your head falling onto your linked hands as a whine filled with need leaves your lips while Mark swears loudly, his fingers digging into your hip uncomfortably hard.

“Mark, you’re so big, holy shit,” you stammer, swallowing thickly as he pulls out slowly, almost entirely, before snapping his hips forward and resheathing himself inside of you. You cry out weakly, your walls flexing around his length, and Mark hisses with pleasure, repeating the motion as he gradually builds up an almost brutal pace.

“You’re so wet, fuck,” Mark groans, his words tapering off into an uncharacteristically smug chuckle. “This feels good, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, the sounds of skin slapping against skin almost drowning you out. “So good, Mark—”

Haechan, previously content with just watching for a moment, loses his patience, lifting your head up and urging you up onto your hands. He maneuvers himself under you, pulling his cock out of his sweats and stroking himself slowly as he watches you get fucked, your eyes glazing over with pleasure.

“Open,” Haechan says for the second time, guiding his length into your mouth and leaning back with a relieved sigh. “Suck.”

To be honest, you can barely focus on sucking Haechan off with Mark fucking into you with all the desperation of a man who’ll never fuck again. Mark’s always been passionate, but you’ve always experienced that aspect of him in a tamer sense of the word; this man you’re getting to know now is passionate—rough and sensual and animalistic, the way he’s taking you with dominant, forceful strokes.

Haechan’s derisive chuckle snaps you out of your reverie, your eyes refocusing on him, and he’s looking down at you with an unimpressed expression, an eyebrow arched.

“You’re drooling all over my lap, you know.” He almost sounds bored, and your face warms with embarrassment.

“S—” you start to mumble around his length, but he cuts you off.

“Sorry? Don’t be sorry. Fix it.” He gestures at his lap, and you blink up at him in confusion. He sighs and chuckles, the sound surprisingly fond given the circumstances. “You’re so cute, baby. Lick it up.” He murmurs, tone surprisingly gentle as he gives such a degrading order.

“Wh—”

“You heard me.” His gaze is intimidating, to say the least, and he looks down at his lap and length pointedly. “Start here.” He presses your mouth against the flesh of his upper thigh, the tip of your nose coming back cool and wet with your saliva. You avert your gaze shamefully and start to lap at the surprising amount of drool you managed to produce in such a short amount of time, but Haechan tuts disapprovingly, catching your attention once more. “Look at me when you do it.”

Your face burns hotter than you even thought it was capable of but you continue, maintaining eye contact and licking up your saliva from both of his thighs. He strokes himself almost lazily as you do, eyes heavy-lidded with desire and his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates on you.

Mark and Haechan seem to be silently fighting for your attention, because Mark’s thrusts escalate to an almost bruising pace while you’re tending to Haechan and he reaches around you to rub your clit, persisting even when you frantically try to swat his hand away.

“Be good, baby,” Mark murmurs distractedly as his hips continue to snap into yours. “Can you take it? For me?” As sweet as he sounds, it’s obvious to everyone in the room that you don’t have much of a choice. 

You’re at the mercy of both of them, and not only do they know, but they know you know, and they know you know they know.

“Okay,” you whimper quietly, and they both laugh.

“She’s learning,” Haechan coos, stroking your hair with his free hand. He taps the head of his length against your mouth, smiling when you take him into your mouth and start to bob your head, your tongue gliding against the underside of his shaft and helping you move up and down smoothly. “Just like that, baby.” Haechan groans, his head falling back as he pushes your head down until your nose is pressed against his lower abdomen and his tip prods at the back of your throat. 

You struggle to take it all in, but you finally manage, your throat reflexively swallowing around him, and he moans loudly, holding you in place as he thrusts up into your mouth with shallow pumps. You struggle to remember to breathe through your nose and tears prick at the corners of your eyes as he fucks your mouth, but Mark’s massaging of your clit helps distract you somewhat from the discomfort.

“You’re so tight,” Mark pants, “and wet, shit—”

The whine you let out is muffled by your mouthful of Haechan, who curses under his breath and thrusts up into your throat once more, making you gag around him and tap his thigh repeatedly.

“Too much?” Mark asks, sounding more amused than worried, and you shake your head.

“No, it’s not too much.” Haechan muses, finally pulling you off of his length and watching you cough and gasp for air. “Puppy loves taking cock—don’t you?”

“Yes,” you moan when you catch your breath, your voice throaty from sucking him off, and he smiles in satisfaction.

“She’s so good at it, too,” Mark grunts appreciatively, sliding his hand up your body to cup your breast. “Like she’s made for it.” 

“I’m close,” you whine as a warning, finding it oddly arousing that they’re essentially talking about you like you’re not there. 

“Good—I’m gonna cum so deep inside this pretty pussy,” he pants, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge until you’re toppling over it, a broken cry falling from your lips as your eyes shut tightly, and you can feel his length throbbing within your walls as he pumps his cum into you. Mark shudders out a moan and kneads your asscheeks before pulling out of you and coming to lie on his back beside you, spent. 

Haechan takes Mark’s place, kissing up your thighs, over the curve of your asscheeks, and up your back until his lips are at the spot just behind your ear.

“You get to make one choice tonight, baby.” Haechan murmurs in your ear, running his hands down your sides to grab your hips. “You want me to eat you out like this? Or do you want to sit on my face?”

“Like this,” you mumble, barely audible and slurring. Haechan and Mark chuckle.

“What was that?” Haechan asks again, clearly taunting you.

“Haechan, please?” you sniffle, and he hums fondly, massaging circles into your hips with his thumbs. “Eat me out like this?”

“Okay, baby,” Haechan coos, moving back from your ear until you can feel his breath against your thighs and fanning over your core. “Such a pretty, pretty pussy. Even with Mark’s cum leaking out of it,” he murmurs, a gush of your and Mark’s cum leaking out of you as if on cue. 

Mark positions you on your hands once more, your body already starting to feel weary, and places himself under you where Haechan was a moment ago, slowly stroking himself. His brows furrowed, his gaze is dark as he watches your bottom lip tuck itself between your teeth in anticipation for Haechan to do something.

Haechan practically buries his face between your thighs, lapping at the arousal leaking from you. “Messy puppy’s even messy down here,” he grunts, wet noises sounding out from behind you as he licks and sucks at your glistening folds. 

The feeling of his tongue moving between your legs both tickles and thrills you, the wet muscle gliding over your skin with ease, and Haechan pulls back slightly, making you whine and push your hips back towards him.

“You’re so greedy,” Haechan teases, landing a smack to your ass cheek. “Be patient.”

“Don’t wanna,” you whine, looking up at Mark in an attempt to garner sympathy. “Please?”

Mark’s already furrowed brows furrow even more, something you didn’t think was possible, and he tilts your head up by the chin to capture your lips in a kiss. It’s domineering, forceful, even, with his tongue stroking against yours needily as you whine into his mouth.

As Mark kisses you senseless, you finally get to see why Haechan stopped in the first place. A warm, wet sensation travels down from your asshole and drips down to your clit, the bead of saliva threatening to drop onto the bed. Haechan groans at the sight while you groan at the sensation, Haechan’s mouth quick to follow the path but in reverse, licking up from your clit and through your folds to prod the tip of his tongue at your entrance.

You whimper and jolt forward, almost biting down on Mark’s lip, and Haechan chuckles, spreading your lips apart with two fingers and teasing his tongue around your entrance slowly. 

“Please,” you pant, breaking the kiss momentarily to beg for relief. “Please?”

“What, puppy? You like that?” he mumbles, pausing his ministrations to tease you. When you nod, he chuckles, cooing, “I know you like it; you like when I tease your little hole like that? Yeah?” You can only cry out in response, and he flicks his tongue over your entrance before speaking again. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Haechan—” you plead in a desperate exhale, and he groans at the sound of your name leaving his lips, lurching forward and pushing his tongue past your entrance and into your core, not stopping even when you gasp and jolt away from him.

He yanks you back into place and smacks your ass once for good measure, warning you, “Don’t move until I say so,” before pushing his tongue back into you. He grabs your hip with his free hand, pulling you closer to his mouth, and Mark moves with you, his head dipping to suck at the base of your neck while you mewl in delight.

It takes approximately three guided rocking movements of your hips for you to realize that Haechan’s making you fuck yourself on his tongue, the wet muscle satisfying but a fraction of your need to be filled.

“More?” you beg, and Haechan drags his tongue up from your entrance to your asshole, swirling his tongue around the puckered rim as you cry out and reach back to swat at his head. “I didn’t mean—”

“Just wait,” he mumbles distractedly, flicking over it as you gasp and tremble. “See, puppy? I know what I’m doing.” Your hand slowly moves back to propping you up and both Mark and Haechan laugh, the sounds darker than usual and far more mischievous. 

“You like that, hm? Like when Haechan eats you out from the back?” Mark grunts against your neck, and you look down to see he’s fully hard again, his fist now slowly pumping his length. “So dirty,” Mark teases. “You’re just a dirty little thing,” Mark murmurs, “aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you agree needily, willing to say almost anything if it means you get to climax. “Haechan, I need—”

“I know what you need.” Haechan silences you by letting another fat drop of saliva drip onto your asshole, his lips wrapping around your clit as he pushes two fingers into your entrance and traces another finger around your asshole. “You need all your holes filled, don’t you, puppy?”

“Mhm,” you can only whine as he starts to fuck his fingers into you, the finger at your asshole pushing in with the spit as a makeshift lubricant. It’s less than ideal, the stretch of his finger feeling foreign as he pushes it in up to the first knuckle, but when he starts to move it in and out of you at the same pace his fingers fuck your core, you can only gasp in surprise, clutching onto Mark for something to brace yourself. “Holy shit—”

“Yeah, that’s good, isn’t it?” Mark chuckles, tilting your head towards him. “Look at me; I want to see that pretty face when you cum.”

“God, fuck—okay,” you agree breathlessly, nodding as you struggle to keep your eyes on his. Haechan speeds up in his finger-fucking of both your holes, releasing your clit from his lips to go up and spit on your rim again to prepare you as best he can to add another finger. “Oh, shit!”

“You can take it,” Haechan mutters determinedly, both sets of digits pumping in and out of you quickly. “Can’t you, baby?”

“Mhm,” you moan, nodding, and Haechan presses a kiss to your ass cheek, a silent encouragement to hang in there. “Gonna—oh, God—gonna cum—”

“Good, baby,” Haechan urges, voice surprisingly sweet as he coaxes you to your climax. “Cum for me, baby, cum all over me.” He’s practically spewing nonsense at this point, too caught up in his lust to make any sense, lips refusing to part with your clit as he urges you closer and closer to your peak. “Want to feel you cum all over my fingers, baby, all over my face—gonna lick it all up when you’re done—”

You cry out loudly, now grateful to be home alone, as your climax hits, your mind and body toppling over the edge gracelessly as you succumb to the bliss coursing through you. You whimper Haechan’s name, then Mark’s, then Haechan’s again, then you honestly don’t know what starts coming out next; you can only make out the word “fuck” leaving your lips again and again—and again.

“So fucking pretty when you cum,” Mark groans, pressing kisses to your slack-jawed mouth. “Prettiest fucking girl.”

“Gonna look even better with both of her holes stuffed full of cock.” Haechan grunts, and your eyes widen.

“Both—”

“Remember everything you put us through,” Haechan reminds you with a devilish grin. “You owe it to us at this point.” As if to drive his point home further, he presses his spit-slicked thumb to your rim, chuckling when you jolt away reflexively and move to sit on your heels. He presses you back down forcefully, your ass back in the air and face squished against Mark’s lap as he pushes his thumb past the rim of your asshole, moving it in and out carefully.

Mark groans at the sensation of your face pressed to the underside of his length and shamelessly lets his shaft rub against your lips and forehead, a tremor of pleasure traveling through his body as you whimper at the sensations you’re feeling at both ends. 

Haechan licks around where his thumb disappears into you, chuckling when you gasp with pleasure. 

“Haechan, hurry up—I want to fuck her again.” Mark grunts, and Haechan scoffs, moving his mouth away from you.

“You’re so impatient.” Haechan grouches as he pulls his thumb out carefully, guiding you up so you’re sitting on your heels. “I get her ass.”

“Wh—no, you don’t!”

“Mm, yes, I do.”

“Dude, seriously—”

“Can someone please just fuck me?” you plead quietly, and they look at each other, exchanging words non-verbally with their eyes. “Please?” 

“Don’t worry, puppy,” Haechan coos, coming closer and kissing your neck sweetly. “We’re gonna fill your needy little holes right now.”

“C’mere, pretty.” Mark urges, guiding you into straddling his legs and hovering just over his length as he presses the head of it to your entrance. He coats his length in your arousal, Haechan’s saliva, and whatever’s left of his own cum before urging your hips down so he slowly fills you up. When you let out a whine, he chuckles, pulling you down to kiss him, murmuring, “I know, baby. I know.”

“My turn,” Haechan chuckles mischievously, pressing his tip to your rim, both males holding you in place when you instinctively flinch away. “Don’t run from it, baby.”

“Mm—!” you cry out, voice muffled as Mark kisses you, as Haechan pushes the head of his cock into your ass, the feeling both incredibly foreign and unbelievably satisfying. “So much,” you gasp out, pulling away from Mark to look behind you as Haechan kneads your ass cheeks in what you assume is a comforting gesture.

“You can take it,” Mark encourages you with a husky voice, kissing down your neck to distract you from the discomfort.

“I can’t,” you moan, shaking your head.

“You can,” Haechan urges, “and you will.”

“God, fuck—” You hiss, scratching your nails uselessly against your bedspread.

“Don’t worry, baby—you’re gonna take this cock deep inside you, and you’re gonna fucking love it.” Haechan grunts through gritted teeth as he pushes himself further inside of you, his length reaching places inside of you no one’s ever been before. The cry you let out is somehow deeply overwhelmed yet so full of need for more that it would startle you if you were currently of sound mind and body. “Just like that, puppy.” he chuckles, his words ending in a groan as he bottoms out in you, hips pressed against your ass.

“Doing so well, baby.” Mark praises you in a whisper. “So fucking good.”

“You gotta relax, puppy.” Haechan leans over to speak against your ear. “Otherwise, it’s never gonna feel better.”

“You can move,” you say breathlessly, closing your eyes tightly in anticipation as you try to relax your muscles.

Mark lifts you up slightly and carefully pulls himself out to the tip before thrusting back into you with a groan. Haechan grips your hips tightly and starts to pull out, the feeling making you keen desperately for more. When he bottoms out again, you reach back to grab his hand tightly. 

“Faster,” you manage to get out, and Haechan snickers. 

“That’s more like it.” He pulls back out and thrusts into you as Mark starts building a quick rhythm that has you stuttering out whimpers. The sounds only increase in volume when Haechan does the same, the pleasurable blend of sensations of both your holes getting fucked filling your mind with a thick fog of bliss.

“So fucking big,” you whine, both of them chuckling.

“Who, baby?” Mark asks.

“Both of you—”

“Good answer,” Haechan praises before reaching around and rubbing at your clit, persisting even when you yelp in protest and try to smack his hand away. “Relax,” he reminds you, sounding smug as he tweaks the hypersensitive bud between his fingers.

“God, she’s so fucking wet,” Mark moans, his every syllable punctuated with a powerful thrust into you. “Feels like I’m gonna slip right out.” He reaches between your bodies and tugs at your nipples, kneading your breasts and running his thumbs over the sensitive buds.

“Please—oh, my God—” you beg, not even sure what it is you want.

“Good, yeah?” Mark teases, and you nod vigorously.

“So fucking good,” you pant, “feels so full.”

When he pulls you back down for a kiss, his hand returns to kneading your breasts as he teases your tongue with his. Haechan’s thrusts are rough and fast and deep, the pleasure forcing tears out of your eyes. His slick fingers press down harder on your clit and you nearly collapse, your eyes rolling back.

“Fuck, do that again, Haechan,” Mark groans against your lips. “She got so fucking tight—”

“This?” Haechan asks, fucking into you harder as he presses down on your clit again.

“Yeah—God, you’re so fucking tight—” Mark kisses away your tears even as fresh ones fall before sucking at a spot on your neck that makes you reflexively tilt your head to allow him more access.

“You like that, baby?” Haechan taunts you, audibly grinning as he speeds up the circles on your clit, and you cry out weakly, a teary whimper leaving you as more tears fall. “I know you do,” he grunts breathlessly, driving his hips into you harder. 

“God, I’m gonna—” You can barely get the words out as your climax approaches, your hips fucking back onto Haechan’s length.

“Cum, baby.” Mark tugs particularly hard on your nipple, eliciting another cry from you as you hit your peak, your body attempting to curl in on itself as the pleasure courses through you. “That’s it, fuck, you’re so good.” He sounds slightly whiny and you can’t even bring yourself to help him out yet, the aftershocks of your orgasm still traveling through your body, buzzing through your veins.

“Mark,” you say, slurring slightly as you bring your lips to his ear. “You can cum,” you urge gently, and he inhales sharply. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you so good,” he moans, his thrusts growing more unpredictable before he thrusts upward, filling you completely, and spills his cum into you as his length throbs inside of you. His eyes close for a moment, Mark in a daze before he collects himself, opening his eyes, and pulls out of you gingerly. His gaze zeroes in on your core as his release and yours start to drip down your inner thighs, his face visibly spent while his eyes still hold that wild glint.

“Gonna fuck you so full of cum, puppy.” Haechan half-moans, half-growls as he pulls you up so your back is to his chest. Sucking at a sensitive spot on your neck, his hands grope your chest, kneading your breasts and rolling your nipples between his fingers. “Fill you so fucking good, it’ll be dripping out of you for ages.”

“God, Haechan, please cum—” you plead, fresh tears welling up in your eyes from how much pleasure you’re feeling. It’s almost more than you can take, one of Haechan’s hands returning to your clit even as you try your best to jerk away.

“You’re gonna come one more time for me, yeah?” he coaxes, and your eyes widen.

Underneath you, Mark chuckles at the panic on your face, watching you two lazily with a dopey smile on his lips.

“Haechan, I don’t wanna cum again,” you beg.

“Don’t want to, or you think you can’t?” Haechan presses, and you let out a small choked sob.

“I can’t!”

“You can—watch,” he answers simply, and you sniffle loudly. “Aw, come on; don’t be selfish, puppy,” he grunts, kissing up to your ear, his length pumping into you rapidly. “Give it to me. Cum.”

When you climax again, your body feels almost unbearably warm, your jaw dropping in overwhelming ecstasy, and your muscles go slack as you slump against Haechan’s back, distantly aware of Haechan’s thrusts slowing as he starts to cum inside of you. He keeps pumping into you at a slow pace, warmth flooding between your legs as more of your arousal drips down your legs.

“So fucking good, baby.” Haechan mutters through gritted teeth as his fingers dig into the flesh of your breast so hard that you whine. He pulls out of you carefully, your limbs immediately giving out as you practically melt onto the mattress beside Mark. Your breath comes in ragged inhales and exhales, Haechan gently flipping you onto your back and apologetically kissing the sore spots on your breast where his fingers dug into you. Satisfied with the attention, you tiredly push his head away and he lies down next to you, sighing deeply with relief.

“How do you feel?” Mark asks softly.

“Great,” Haechan answers, and Mark sucks his teeth.

“I wasn’t asking you.” 

“I feel…” you start, and they both crane their necks to look at you. “Like you’re both still insane.”

“Maybe we are,” Haechan laughs tiredly. “You did a good job; almost paid off your debt entirely.” 

“Please don’t bring up that stupid debt,” you complain, covering your ears.

“Also, turns out that puppy likes it in doggy style,” Haechan chuckles, “who would’ve thought?”

“Haechan?”

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Stop being a menace for one second. You’re making my head hurt.” 

“I can imagine more than your head hurts,” Mark says sympathetically, squeezing your hand. “Are you, like, physically okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumble sleepily. “I’m covered in spit and sweat and cum, though, so I really want to shower in a sec.”

“Here’s an idea—we go shower and Mark and I will go get some of Jeno’s weed for us to smoke. That’ll make you feel better.” Haechan suggests, and you pause to think.

“You know,” you muse, “that’s a good plan.”

“Why, thank you,” Haechan says with a proud smile. “I am known for my intelligence.”

“No, you’re not,” you and Mark snort in amusement.

“I’m a genius!” Haechan retorts defensively, and you scoff.

“Who said that beside the voices in your head?”

“Do you want Jeno’s weed or not?” Haechan challenges.

You’re quiet for a moment. “Fine, you’re a genius.”

Haechan smiles in satisfaction. “That's what I thought.”

(“I can’t believe they really made it the whole month,” Jaemin mutters in surprise.

“I can’t believe I really have to give up all my weed,” Jeno laments. “All 5 pounds of it—”

“Five fucking pounds?! Jesus Christ, are you a dealer or something?” Lia stares in horror at Jeno, who just waves her off.

“We all do what we gotta do to get by.” Jeno answers, shrugging. “I smoke weed, Jaemin eats snacks—Lia schemes against her friends—”

“Hey! When I told Mark and Haechan she was home on December 1st and had her get the door, I did that for her own good. The three of them were dancing awkwardly around each other for a frustratingly long time.” Lia defends herself, and Jaemin raises an eyebrow.

“Right. Now look at them. Oh, wait. You can’t because they’re off fucking like rabbits. Again.” he drawls.

“I regret nothing.” Lia turns her nose up in a huff.

“Well, I regret hearing Haechan’s dumb joke about the new monthly challenge they’re doing.” Yeji rolls her eyes, gathering the attention of everyone else. “He didn’t tell you guys?” 

“No,” they chorus.

Yeji sighs. “It’s Dick Her Down December, apparently.”

“That poor girl.” Jaemin winces. “It’s only the 5th.”

Jeno shrugs. “Somehow, I think she’ll be alright.”)

the end!! i hope you enjoyed :) please consider leaving positive feedback & thank you for reading!!

[seeingivy]

picnic

sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friend's older brother fic

previous part linked here

(^^make sure you check since this was a double upload and I posted the last one very recently :D)

--

dear head of the cullen clan,  keep evening plans open – im getting off work early and we’re going on a picnic.  coldest regards,  the head of the volturi  (ps. am expecting a very wholehearted appreciation for the fact that it’s coldest regards and not warmest regards, because they are, in fact, vampires and therefore cold. because they don’t have a heart and such.)  (extra ps. this is a link to a shared spotify playlist. i’ll add a song and then you add one. we’ll keep it going.) 

you snort. 

dear aro of the volturi (does he have a last name???),  so much to unpack in one email, yet again. you really know how to keep a girl on her toes.  first and foremost, you are SOOOO ran through. so offended that i wasn’t the person who got to put you on to twilight and whoever it was, I HOEP SHE DIES! if you’re team jacob, you’re a freak.  second, SO VERY FLATTERED that you think i would be carlisle. a little haunting that you think YOU would be aro…but it’s ok cuz former companions to enemies back to lovers in our case would be kind of crazy???  third. done and done. i just added a song so hurry up bc i have like ten other songs i want to add and i am #impatient  see u after work pookie :D,  carlisle cullen  (very appreciative of the cold regards. you are a king among men.) 

his response back is very prompt. 

Never call me pookie again.  (very offended that you think i’d be stupid enough to be team jacob. and direct your murderous rage towards yuuji and my mom, who forced me to watch it in theaters with them.) 

--

you wait for sukuna at the park two blocks down the apartment complex. the sun is hours away from dipping into the horizon, the chilly wind rustling through the trees. you realize now that the red skirt and white sweater might betray you in a few hours but decide that you’ll simply have to steal his jacket when he gets here. 

and you would have already but he’s twenty minutes late.

and while this part of the city is extremely safe, sukuna’s ever constant fear of people attacking you on subway trains and stabbing you in alleyways has instilled an acute fear of strangers in you, which is why you’re gripping the sparkly pink pepper spray he bought you very harshly in your palm right now. 

you think it’s sweet that he bought you a pink one. 

but of course it’s severely ironic that you almost used it on him. 

because he scares the living daylights out of you, by placing his hand around your shoulder from behind. 

“hey. i’m sorry i-” 

“jesus fuck-” 

you instinctively hold the pepper spray up to his face, your hands shaking in front of you. 

“i’ll use it, you pervert!” 

sukuna leans his head to the side, which is when you’re finally able to log that it’s actually him standing in front of you and not a stranger, and you drop your hands in embarrassment. 

“i mean, i’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t doll face but–” 

“oh my god, sukuna. i thought you were trying to rob me!” 

“i’m smarter than that. the only thing inside your purse is lip gloss, which has very little value to me.” sukuna responds, dropping the little basket at his feet and taking the little stalk of flowers out of the top handle. 

“i’ll have you know that it’s actually sold out in every store right now. so you could make bank if you sold it.” 

“don’t tempt me. and for your sake, i’ll accept the apology you didn’t give me for just trying to rob me of my eyesight and for calling me a pervert? i’m getting really tired of the age gap jokes, y/n.” sukuna responds, as he lifts your hands at your sides and places the stalk of flowers in your hand. 

you give him a big smile as you press your nose to the flowers, the scent fresh in your nose. and sukuna props down, setting a billowing white blanket on the ground before he taps the spot next to him and signals for you to sit next to him. 

“who needs eyes?” you joke, as you squeeze his hands and set the flowers down next to the little basket. 

“me, dipshit. how else am i supposed to look at you?” 

you cover your hands with your cheeks as you watch him place all of the little things inside the basket next to you, laying them out perfectly. it’s albeit a weird assortment – two wine glasses, perfectly wrapped sandwiches, a mini-cake, and strawberry lemonade. 

“well, stop perceiving me. this is so weird!” you murmur. 

it’s enough to catch his attention and stop him in his tracks. 

“what?” 

the question makes you pause. and a little embarrassed. it was a little harsh to say while you were joking.

“oh, i mean…i didn’t mean it like that! i was making a joke about perceiving because eyes…vision…and i almost took your vision away! and you perceive with your eyes, because how else would you see…” 

sukuna smiles, before shaking his head, and continuing spilling out the last of the contents – a set of gouache paints and two little small canvases. and he drops to his feet, yanking his shoes off, before sitting flat on the blanket and gesturing for you to join him. 

“there’s no way in hell that was what you meant. but we’ll ignore that for the time being.” sukuna responds, hiking his legs to his chest and gesturing towards the spread he just put out. 

you tilt your head to the side in confusion. 

“you look very pretty today.” sukuna responds. 

“thanks! you too!” 

he narrows his eyes. 

“uh huh. well, pick what we do first. the paint, the sandwiches, or the weird wine glass cake.” 

“the wine glass cake? like from tiktok?” you ask. 

“correct. i’m really bad at…cute dates. so…i did some research.” 

sukuna refuses to look at you. because after admitting it, he’s suddenly busied himself with reading the back of the box of paints, like it’s the most riveting, intriguing thing he’s ever read in his life. 

but the pink flush that’s creeping down his neck betrays him entirely, as you reach forward and push the little box down. and sukuna’s already glaring at you. 

you place your chin on the top of his knees, reaching for one of his hands and smiling. 

“you did research for a date?” 

“you can choke on your spit.” 

you grin. 

“you really know how to turn a girl on.” 

“you’re filthy.” 

you grin. 

“and you’re actually so precious, i–” 

“don’t call me precious, y/n.” he whines, as he reaches forward to flick on your forehead. 

you smile as you sit by his side, tucking the folds of your skirt under your leg as you reach for both of the wine glasses and hand him one. 

“so how humbling was it to have satoru explain all this to you?” you ask. 

he sneers. 

“don’t even ask. he’s like the biggest nuisance i’ve ever met in my life. top ten worst moments of my life.” sukuna responds. 

“i’m flattered you humbled yourself to him for me.” 

“i actually asked suguru. they’re like…two peas in a pod, they can’t do shit without each other. the paints and stuff they gave me and the nice basket too.” 

“that’s sweet of them. remind me to send them something later to thank them.” 

sukuna scoffs. 

“no need. they were more than happy to give it up for you.” 

“ah yes. i hear they’re big fans of this camping bag story. the scouts honor and the fake story we had to tell them makes a lot more sense now.” you respond. 

sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“okay, you know what? sue me. i was like sixteen sleeping next to a girl for the first time. god forbid i enjoyed myself. and i don’t know why they’re all so hyperfixated on that story because it was a very normal thing to assume when you’re asked that question.”  

you snort. 

“and you say you’re not a pervert…” 

sukuna leans forward, his eyes flitting down to his lips before he looks back up at you. and he can tell that you’re in a mood, that you’re trying to push his buttons by annoying him. 

“you know i despise you right?” he whispers. 

you grin, leaning in. 

“is that right?” you whisper back. 

“oh yeah. you irritate me.” 

there isn’t even a shred of earnestness in the words he’s uttering. you know he doesn’t mean them. 

“keep going.” you respond, as he presses a warm kiss to the side of your cheek. 

“you’re a nuisance.” – a kiss to your forehead. 

“an irritation.” – a kiss to the tip of your nose. 

“like a fucking thorn in my side.” – and a kiss to the sweet spot right in your neck and his hand snaking up your thigh, which makes you nearly keel your head back from the sensation. 

you place your hands on his cheek and pull him back, face flushed and his eyes nearly glazed over. 

“are you crazy?” you whisper. 

“what?” he asks. 

“we’re in public, dumbass. you can’t just start trying to rile me up.” 

sukuna leans back, obliging. 

“so you admit it? i was riling you up?” 

“oh, shut up.” 

you reach for the sandwiches and unpeel one for sukuna. before he takes it, he places a tiny white box in your lap. 

you frown. first the fancy date but the jewelry too? 

“sukuna. you didn’t–” 

“just open it. i’m impatient and i’ve been waiting all day. and i actually think you’ll like it. otherwise, you’re ungrateful and rude and you hate me.” sukuna responds. 

you give him a tight lipped smile before you open the little box and actually smile. 

it’s a dainty silver chain – the exact same as sukuna’s from the chain-links, but the build is a little thinner. and right at the center, a little charm of a star. 

you reach forward for his chain, dangling around his collarbone. and surely enough, in addition to the original charm he had of an interlocked circle, there’s a star charm added right next to it. 

“you always reach for it. when you’re talking or when we’re kissing. figured i’d get you your own since you’re such a big fan.” 

“you are so…” 

“perfect? sexy? the father of your children?” 

“i was thinking adorable. can i answer d for all of the above?” you respond. 

sukuna grins. 

“survey says yes, princess.” he responds. 

you yank the chain from the little box and hand it to him, before turning around for him to secure it on you. his fingers tickle against the nape of your neck, accompanied by a warm kiss, before he taps your shoulders to signify that he’s done. 

“you know. you really are perceiving me right now.” you respond. 

“and how’s that?” 

“i know you’re obsessed with me and pay attention to every word i say.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“obviously.” 

you jab at his side. 

“i mean, i know you’re doing this because i mentioned picnics yesterday and always feeling left out. sure you could put two and two together that he never really bought me any nice gifts or anything when i said he ruined my birthday.” 

“okay, captain obvious. and?” 

you shove him once more, before leaning your head against his shoulder. 

“well, i appreciate it. i know the whole…cutesy painting date isn’t your thing. we won’t have to do it again. and that you…you’re trying to make this whole thing special for me.” 

sukuna scoffs. 

“i’m offended. first and foremost, i always like to eat with you. every time i think that there’s no way you can amaze me more, you find another way to spill food on your clothes.” 

“hey! that’s not true.” 

“you already spilled on the blanket. second, this is a very violent way to eat cake. you literally mess up all the layers by doing that and destroy the piping on the cake which i can admit, i am a fan of. and third, i’m going to paint us as worms, which seems enjoyable to me.” 

you curl your nose. 

“worms?” 

“yeah. what were you going to paint?” 

“i don’t know. but it certainly wasn’t going to be worms. like the park or flowers or something.” 

“boring. i’m going to paint us as slimy worms. and because we made it on this date, you’ll have to agree to put it up in the apartment, even if it’s ugly.” 

“sukuna.” you whine. 

“especially if it’s ugly. it’s a testament to our love.” he responds, dramatically placing his hands on  his chest. 

“you know, you’re so right. worms have been a really defining feature of your relationship.” 

sukuna leans forward and presses a quick kiss to your lips and an additional one on your cheek. 

“you just get me, princess!” 

and he breaks the little joke by lifting one of your hands to his lips, and pressing a kiss on all four of your knuckles before pressing your hand to his cheek. 

“and i have to do special things for a special person.” 

you return the gesture, lifting his tattooed fingers to your lips and doing the same. 

“you know…you’re really good at this type of thing.” you murmur. 

“what do you mean?” 

“i mean, being a boyfriend. and…and being supportive about everything. sometimes i feel like i’m trying really hard to be the best but…just comes naturally to you.” you respond. 

sukuna shrugs. 

“don’t know if i’m perfect but…loving you has always come really easy to me. i don’t really have to think twice about it because these are actually just things i want to do for you.” 

you groan. 

“see! that’s what i’m saying! you always just…say sweet things, do sweet things. sometimes i’m convinced i’m not even half deserving of it, just because sometimes i don’t reciprocate that back.” you respond. 

sukuna leans forward. 

“you know, you actually do though.” 

“as if.” you groan. 

sukuna pauses, before leaning his cheek against the tops of his knees and looking out at the expanse of grass in front of you. you follow his line of vision – to the dog running in the distance, the wide, billowing trees, and the little flower truck on the side – which you now realize is where sukuna copped the flowers from earlier. 

“i mean, this type of thing. that we have, or…or the way i act around you. it means a lot to you because, you…you’ve never had this before. right?” 

“yeah.” 

“well, i haven’t had you before. i know you see me as perfect, but…but when you say that i can tell that you don’t mean it the way my mom or…or yuuji think that i’m perfect. in the untouchable way.” 

you lean forward, cupping the side of his face. 

“sukuna. you’re so touchable.” you joke. 

“you’re disgusting.” 

“you love it.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“yeah, i really do. it does actually mean the world to me that you think i’m perfect how i am and don’t think i’m larger than life.” 

“if anything, your ego could be smaller.” 

sukuna leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“and…and even the other day. i know you were acting squirrely and weird when yuuji was near us and heard us bickering, but i was half convinced that you were going to take his side at the end, when he started saying that stuff about me. because it is true and i have acted a certain way in the past…and, you would have every right to agree with him if you wanted to.” 

you frown. 

“no, i wouldn’t. you’ve never treated me like that and i know you’re being earnest when you say these things to me. this would be a very elaborate way to get into my pants if that was what you were trying to do. and i know it’s not.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“that’s what i’m saying. every other person for me has never given me that benefit of the doubt, but you always do. you were the person who thought to tell me that my grandpa died when you all came to get me and you were the one who wasn’t mad at me. the things you do for me are the same, in equal magnitude, as what i do for you. if this makes you feel good, or…or on top of the world, you have to know that’s how you make me feel too. i’m half convinced that you’re basically made for me at this point the way you get everything right on point.” 

you lean forward and press a lingering kiss to his lips. 

“i really think you’re made for me too, ryomen.” 

sukuna groans, dramatically leaning his head back, before nearly pushing you over and peppering kisses to almost every surface on your face. 

“quit fucking saying my name. you have no idea what that does to me.” 

“i mean, i think i have an idea.” 

sukuna clamps his fingers over your mouth, before pressing a few more lingering kisses to your face and pushing off. and subsequently, picks all of the grass out of your hair as you roll your eyes. 

and after that sukuna, admittedly, very aggressively uses the wine glasses to portion off little slices of the cake and makes it a point to finish off yours when you can’t stomach the sweetness. and true to his promise – sukuna paints the two of you as worms, but at the park, stargazing. 

it’s a little silly, the way he paints it. you were expecting it to be more gory or gross, but it’s so corny that it makes you smile. because he draws the two little worms, but distinguishes between the two of you, by swiping some of your pink paint and adding a little ribbon to the one that’s supposed to be you. 

sukuna explains the stars. because before sukuna had dragged you out of that shitty bathroom bar, it’s what megumi and yuuji said in his drunken mess – he had pointed at two little stars and likened them to him and megumi.

and you’re almost positive that at the time, sukuna found it utterly ridiculous. but now, he understood it – the sentiment. that you and sukuna were two little worms, and two stars, and two little flowers too. 

and to his promise, the two of you decide to place the little canvases you drew at the end of the kitchen counter. 

it’s only then that you realize that you have to go the whole ten miles for sukuna the way he had done for you – countless times again. and that if you were going in blind in trying to make something special, you’d have to take a page out of his book and do some research. 

and there was only one person who could really help you, who you’d rather die than humble yourself to than ask for help. 

regardless of that, you still call sammy the next morning.

--

next part linked here

an: they're about to do it. anyways....there is a very real playlist to match the one that they talk about in the fic -- and it matches the way it described in the fic! so it's interleaved, the first song is a song that sukuna would have added, the second one that y/n added, the third sukuna, so on and so forth. it's linked here! happy listening babies

second an: thank you for the love on the last chapter. it makes my heart really warm bc all of that was actually based on a REAL MAN and real things that I have felt/have said to me and just having people comment that they felt seen by it or it made them feel a certain type of way actually made me really happy and so warm. this blog was one of the first things I did after I stopped being really, really sad and i'm glad that i'm able to share a little joy here and there, if that's what this fic is for you. anyways this is long and sappy and gross and actually I just love you all for enduring the ouchies and the sillies with me a little bit 💌

third an: double upload bc yall were so patient with me :D

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @ghostreadersthings @charlie-xo @whoami-72 @heijihattorisgf @megu-meow @complexivelovely @multiplefandomthings @hoebuns @lzaj19 @glossygreene @ramluvr @sureconfused @najaemism @manduse @imhorn1help @gamergirl5125 @r0ckst4rjk @invisible-mori @isaacdaknight @wishmemel @gyros-cum-sock @suftsunshine @i0099 @cowgirlikets @haitanibros0007 @stuffeddeer @yoontaedotin @ec3lipsy @armani79 @awkwardaardvarkforever @kereseth @leave-rae-alone @ruruvia @princess-ackerman @jjkwritingss @lilkiwikiara @opchara @telepathicheartss @starriesworlds @raechu11 @exprimidordefresas @nxxrxm @aalloochaat @strangehuman101 @tzutology

[springtyme]

𝐒𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 ♡

Spencer Reid x reader || Main masterlist || Spencer playlist

summary: You can't sleep. Spencer comforts you.

word count: 1.1k

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟖) 𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩

You lie awake in the dark, the quiet hum of the night wrapping around you like a thick blanket, but it does little to ease the restlessness swirling in your mind. The clock ticks softly, each second dragging on as you stare at the ceiling, your thoughts a jumbled mess of worry and sleeplessness. It’s past 2 am, and the world outside feels distant, almost invisible in the night’s embrace.

You toss and turn, searching for a position that might bring solace, but every angle offers more discomfort than peace. You’re afraid of waking Spencer, who is laying next to you, snoring ever so gently. With a soft sigh, you sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed. 

The chill of the wooden floor sends a shiver up your spine as you touch your feet to its surface. You take a moment to listen to Spencer’s steady breathing, the rhythmic sound bringing a sense of calm amidst your tumultuous thoughts. You don’t want to disturb him, but the urge to escape your own mind compels you to leave the warmth of the bed.

You tiptoe out of the narrow bedroom, careful not to make the floorboards beneath you creak. The living room is dimly lit by the sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting soft shadows that dance lightly on the walls. You find solace in the quiet, a raw contrast to the noise occupying your head.

You head to the kitchen where the faint scent of coffee somehow still  linger from earlier that day. You take a glass out from the cupboard over the sink and fill it with nice, cold water. As you lean against the counter and take a sip, you allow your mind to wander through the worries that had kept you awake—the project at work that feels insurmountable, the looming deadline, the casual but devastating comments from colleagues that have burrowed deep into your psyche. You squeeze your eyes shut, attempting to silence the internal critique that seems to echo louder in the stillness.

Just then,  you hear the soft creak of the floorboards outside your bedroom. You open your eyes and as you turn you find Spencer standing in the doorway.

Your name falls from his lips, his voice is a gentle whisper,  laced with concern and also  slightly gravelly from slumber. His hair is slightly tousled. You can see the soft glow of the moonlight catching his features, highlighting the warmth in his brown eyes.

“Hey,” you reply quietly, not sure whether to feel embarrassed or relieved that he’s found you like this.

Spencer steps closer, his expression shifting from worry to understanding as he takes in your restless state. “Can’t sleep?” he asks, his voice soothing, as if he’s trying to absorb your troubles just by being near.

You shake your head, feeling the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you. “I don’t know why. I just… can’t turn my mind off.” 

He nods slowly, his gaze intent as he contemplates your words. “I know the feeling. Do you want to talk about it?” he offers, his voice low, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile calm between you.

You contemplate his offer, the urge to unburden yourself battling with a sense of vulnerability. You know Spencer cares deeply and would listen without judgment, but sharing the turmoil swirling in your mind feels daunting. Still, the sincerity in his gaze encourages you to open up just a little.

“There’s just a lot going on at work,” you finally admit, stirring the water in your glass absentmindedly. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

He shakes his head slowly, his gaze intent, but soft. “How many times haven’t I woken you up?”

“That’s different,” you insist, he is the one working for the BAU, the ones dealing with real chaos and danger. You can’t help but feel your troubles pale in comparison. 

He seems to be considering whether he should press you more on the subject, but it seems like he can sense that you don’t really feel like talking about it right now. “Come back to back to bed with me?” he suggests, his voice a gentle caress in the quiet of the night.

A small part of you wants to protest, to insist you’ll be fine on your own, but the warmth radiating from him is inviting. Besides, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he offers a kind smile makes it hard to resist his gentle persuasion.

Spencer moves to your side, his presence calming the storm inside you. You stand together in the dim light, and he reaches out, gently taking your hand in his. It’s comforting, the way he holds your hand—the little squeeze, the steady grip that tells you he’s right here. With a soft smile, you nod and accept his offer.

“Come on,” he murmurs, leading you back toward the warmth of the sheets.

You follow him, feeling the tension in your shoulders begin to melt away as you get under the covers.

Spencer climbs in next to you, a warm, reassuring presence that makes the room feel just a bit less daunting. He glances at you, his brow slightly furrowed. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” he asks after a moment, his voice a gentle nudge.

You nod your head again, this time feeling a bit lighter. “Yeah, I’m sure…” You pause, glancing at him. “But you can hold me..?”

“Of course.” His voice is so gentle.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” you say again. 

“Hey,” he says softly, turning to face you. “You don’t have to apologize. I’d much rather be here with you than be asleep when you’re feeling this way.”

There’s something undeniably comforting in his words. You can feel the sincerity behind them, the way he genuinely cares. You curl up next to him, resting your head against his shoulder as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. His warmth envelops you, easing the remnants of your worries.

“Just breathe,” he whispers, his voice low and calming. “Focus on my voice. In and out, alright?” You follow his lead, inhaling deeply, then exhaling slowly, letting the rhythm of your breaths sync up with his.

With every breath, you feel yourself sinking further into relaxation. You close your eyes, letting the soothing cadence of his heartbeat lull you as he softly explains little trinkets of information—a random fact, a piece of trivia—that keeps your mind from wandering too far into restless thoughts.

Gradually, the tightness in your chest fades, and you feel yourself drifting. The warmth of his affection and care wraps around you like a safety net, a secure space where worries can’t reach. As sleep begins to pull you under, you whisper a soft, “Thank you, Spencer,” a final whisper of gratitude that slips past your lips, wrapped in drowsiness.

“Always,” he replies, his voice fading into the background like a sweet lullaby. You let the darkness take you, knowing that you’re safe with him, cocooned in warmth and comfort, drifting into a sleep that feels finally earned.

[koqabear]

Killer Instinct

× Playlist ×

“Beomgyu knows better than to get himself involved in that shady fight club you always warn him about— but he never listens to you, and despite how much you beg him to leave that place alone, you don’t find yourself to be too surprised when he starts bringing those same people you warned him about to you.”

MMA Fighter! Taehyun x fem!reader 

Genre: underground fight club! au, mma fighter!taehyun, enemies to lovers, thriller/action, angst, smut

Word count: 37.4K

Warnings: general violence. (This is an mma au; fighting, blood, injuries, etc.) illegal activities (underground clubs, gambling, etc) older!mc (3 years gap), use of the word “noona”, talks about family issues, single parenting, tae is a little bitch, weapons, (knives, guns), stabbing, cigarette smoking, mc is also a bitch (they’re mean to each other), medical inaccuracies probably sksjsj, a bit of jealousy… mentions of bullying, mentions of power imbalance & manipulation, alcohol consumption, mentions of death & coping, mma inaccuracies bc i am not a professional!!

Smut warnings: dom!tae, sub!mc, mc is slightly bratty, manhandling, breast play, marking, biting, oral (f. rec), bro is a pussy fiend, (service top!tae? maybe?) hair pulling, scratching, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie(s)

Notes: i’ve worked on this stupid story for so long that i don’t even want to look at it anymore. (/hj.) another warning that idk anything abt mma, so there are definitely inaccuracies! features literally the whole idol industry,,, they're scattered like easter eggs. 

The air is thick and foggy; Taehyun can already feel the sweat beginning to form on his brow the moment he enters, pushed around like a rag-doll from the full capacity of the room. No one bothers to spare him a glance— he’s a nobody, a clueless figure that’s given away from the sheer curiosity that breaks through his eyes. The poor boy is forced to hold in a cough as someone proceeds to blow cigarette smoke in his face; he hears a few mocking chuckles around him. 

None of that matters, though. The flickering, weak lights overhead manage to spotlight his objective perfectly, his eyes lighting up with wonder as he feels a grin threatening to spread on his face; before him, two unknown men stand in a ring. 

Taehyun’s muscles twitch in attention— his mind is racing, imagining himself in their place as he watches the two slowly circle each other, wondering what he would do if he were in their place; even from here, Taehyun can see the hungry look on one of the men’s faces, a bloody grin stuck on his face as he keeps his hands up and close— his hair is tied up and out of his face as he stares his opponent down. 

It’s tense, wild even, as he finally swings, landing a punch to the other man’s stomach as the crowd around the ring roars— in approval or dread, he isn’t sure entirely. It’s a mixture of everything, men and women alike gesturing wildly as their screams blend in with the crowd; all to form a violent audience, closing in hysterically on the ring in hopes of getting a good view. 

Taehyun feels adrenaline coursing through him— it’s contagious. 

He fights the urge to try and push through, curious to see what might be going on as a sudden unanimous roar sweeps through the crowd. His eyes dart wildly, watching people celebrate, clapping each other on the backs as they cheer; others don't share the feeling, upset or even angry as he finds people being held back from trying to get on the ring— security is quick to put an end to it, though. 

And as he slowly watches the crowd scatter, he sees the same man from before circling the ring, bloody and bruised as he walks back to the referee; his arm is thrust up by the official as his supporters cheer in victory. Eyes scanning the room, his eyes briefly land on Taehyun’s before he’s back to gloating, proud despite the clear beating he took himself. 

Taehyun can feel his ambitious heart beat faster— he doesn’t know how he’ll do it, but he wants to be up there next. 

The buzz of it all is quick to calm down; it’s as though nothing happened, and he notices the way the unconscious man gets picked up and carried towards an infirmary— taking in his condition, Taehyun shudders, trying to shake it off before he looks for his target.

“‘scuse me,” Taehyun says, voice rough and as confident as he can get it to be— he hopes the referee can’t see through his act of bravery. The man barely spares him a glance before he nods, seemingly able to see what he’s here for— the small quirk of his lips is more mocking than anything to Taehyun. 

“What do you want, kid,” the unamused tone of the man before him isn’t very encouraging— for a moment, Taehyun almost feels foolish for stepping inside such a foreign ground without proper connections; he’s quick to push the feeling away, much too used to the patronizing looks he gets for being a newcomer. 

“Get me in the ring,” he can’t seem unsure now— if anything, any ounce of hesitation will get him denied immediately. Taehyun is demanding, jaw clenched and gaze hard as he stares at the older man before him; his eyes narrow at the younger’s words, and for a second Taehyun wonders if he took the wrong approach. 

“You got money to bet?” The older man’s words only bring excitement to Taehyun— he can’t hold back his eager nod, ignoring the man’s amused chuckles as he reaches into his duffle bag; carefully, he pulls out a thick wad of cash, allowing it to peek slightly out of his bag as he glances back up at the referee— judging by the smug look on his face, Taehyun is sure that what he’s brought is more than enough. 

“Good boy,” the referee whistles, but Taehyun chooses to ignore his blatant mockery as he tucks the envelope back in. 

“Jin,” the man introduces himself, offering his hand out in the introduction— Taehyun takes it, the smooth leather of Jin’s black gloves stained with blood as he holds the younger’s hand tightly; he tries to pretend that he doesn’t notice the blood smudge onto his skin, attempting to wipe it off without being noticed. “Let’s go get you on the registry, I’ll see if I can find another newbie for you.”

“Taehyun,” he says, following obediently as Jin weaves through the crowd effortlessly. Taehyun, however, isn’t as lucky, struggling to keep up as everyone seemingly goes out of their way to get in his path— it isn’t long before Taehyun resorts to pushing roughly through the faceless people. 

“Newbie? I don’t—“ Taehyun grunts as someone shoulder checks him, turning to the side roughly as he attempts to keep his sight on Jin; slowly, he’s able to catch up, “Don’t put me up against a newbie.” 

The curious glance Jin spares is enough for Taehyun to get the confidence to continue. 

“Put me up with someone experienced— all or nothing.” 

Jin can’t control the laugh that escapes him at the younger’s words; his head is thrown back, briefly catching the attention of those around him as he stops before the bar. Leaning against the wooden counter, Jin’s act quickly becomes unamusing to Taehyun as he’s forced to watch as the older man attempts to regain his composure. When he does, Taehyun can feel his jaw tick— pure mockery fills Jin’s eyes.

“You even know how to fight, kid?” Taehyun says nothing, afraid of what might come out if he chooses to open his mouth. But his steely gaze is enough for Jin, who reluctantly holds his hands up in surrender—he can tell there’s still a reluctance in the man to take him seriously. 

“Fine, I’ll give you your money’s worth,” Jin mutters, glancing back at the black duffle bag that remains secured at Taehyun’s side, “from the amount you showed me, I’m sure I could get The Bear’s attention.” 

“The Bear?” Taehyun echoed, frowning at the name. Jin only scoffs, rolling his eyes at the title. 

“I know. Stupid, isn’t it? Whatever sticks, I guess,” the referee grumbled, clearly displeased at the thought of having to announce any ridiculous names— clearing his throat, Jin squared his shoulders as he shot Taehyun a smug smile. 

“The one who just won— that’s The Bear,” Jin explains, narrowing his eyes as he gauged Taehyun’s expression, “I saw you staring— you stick out badly— and I know you wanna have a go at him.”

Solemnly, Taehyun nods— Jin only sighs at that.

“Of course,” he runs a hand through his hair, seemingly unfazed by the uncleanliness of his gloves, “everyone does.”

Taehyun wondered if Jin berated every newcomer like this— he wouldn’t put it past the referee, quite honestly. It hadn’t been long since they met, but this short amount of time had Taehyun wondering if the older man even wanted to be a part of this place; slowly, a fire lights in Jin’s eyes, leaving Taehyun confused as he watches the man let out a cruel laugh; his eyes were no longer on Taehyun’s, but instead at a very distant point behind him— one glance over his shoulder and he was able to see victor from before approaching— The Bear. 

“Cocky, faceless fighters like you,” Jin calls out, bringing Taehyun’s attention back as the younger’s eyes meet his— something is threatening within them, and Taehyun wished that he didn’t feel a sense of danger lick up his body as a grin overtook the referee’s face, “I love watching them get put in their place.”

Taehyun was unable to say anything to that— Jin’s expression seemed to light up as he pushed himself off the bar, his gloved hand slapping on Taehyun’s shoulder, startling the boy as he felt himself turned around forcefully— any angry comments died on his tongue as Jin pulled him into his side, walking forward as he called out a foreign name: Beomgyu.

“Beomgyu!” Jin calls out, grinning wildly as he forces Taehyun to follow along. Like before, Taehyun is turned into nothing but a rag-doll, fighting back the urge to shake him off as they approach the man— he can feel the curious stares of the patrons dig into him, and Taehyun begins to wonder what he got himself into as Seokjin’s fingers dig into his shoulder— almost as though he were preventing him from running away. 

One look at the man before him has Taehyun’s nerves on fire— were they really going to let him fight like this? The man before him is bruised and bloody, refusing to stop at the infirmary as he shrugs on his coat; slowly, a grin overtakes his features, a slight wince stopping him as his cut lip reopens— Taehyun can hear the man curse under his breath. 

“Who’s this?” Though Beomgyu’s eyes remain on Taehyun’s, he’s not truly talking to the newcomer; Jin is quick to respond, shaking the young boy teasingly as he laughs.

“Taehyun,” Jin says, patting the boy’s shoulder as he glances at him, “says he wants to have a go at you.” 

Beomgyu quirks a brow at that— he’s clearly amused, letting out a soft huff as he’s crossing his arms over his bare torso; Taehyun can already spot dark bruises forming in certain spots, his thin and reddened fingers tapping at his bicep impatiently as he surveys Taehyun.

“I don’t know,” Beomgyu drawls, tilting his head as though he were in thought, “I don’t wanna scare the poor kid off by giving him a good beating.”

This, Taehyun decides, is about all he can put up with; shrugging Jin’s hand off his shoulder, he scoffs, stepping forward and coming face to face with Beomgyu— the man isn’t even much taller than him, and he seems to be around his age too— yet the arrogance pours off him in waves, looking at Taehyun as though he were lesser than him— yet, he hasn’t seen what Taehyun can do. 

Beomgyu doesn’t seem phased by any of this; it’s like the smug look on his face is permanent, his head held high as Taehyun takes a moment to survey him. The air is tense as the patrons at the bar become aware of what’s happening before them; it isn’t long before they’re all taunting either Taehyun or Beomgyu, encouraging them to fight in hopes that they’ll get another show.

“If anything, I should be the one worried for you,” Taehyun mutters, a fake look of sympathy crossing his face at the thought, his voice patronizing as he continues, “I wouldn’t wanna ruin your pretty face.”

A pause. Beomgyu’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing as he fights back the smile that itches to show; shaking his head, he scoffs, enjoying the way Taehyun’s fiery gaze seems to burn into his skin. He sighs— it’s long and labored, his head thrown back as he shakes his bangs out of his face— then he reaches out, clapping Taehyun on his shoulder as he looks at Jin, nodding in approval. 

“Get us in the next best slot,” Beomgyu says, and the spectators seem to grow more excited with his every word. Glancing back at Taehyun, he smiles; it’s mischievous and sly, but Taehyun doesn’t allow it to get to him as he stands his ground. “I need to freshen up.”

The room is buzzing with energy as everyone seems to spread out, watching Beomgyu disappear into the locker room before they begin to bet on the results; Taehyun grimaces at the number of people who are already betting against him. 

“Seems like you bit off more than you can chew,” Jin whispers, leaning in as he bumps against Taehyun playfully. “You got twenty minutes; pray if you need to.” 

Taehyun grits his teeth as Seokjin walks back to the bar, leaning in towards the bartender as they talk, glancing back at Taehyun before they’re laughing and nodding— it doesn’t take a genius to guess what they’re talking about. Readjusting the strap of his duffle bag, Taehyun has no choice but to make his way into the locker room; he just hopes The Bear can save his temper for the match. 

It wasn’t as though he wanted to provoke the man— if anything, it was the last thing he wanted to do. But, it wasn’t long before Taehyun realized that being nice wouldn’t get him anywhere; luckily for him, he didn’t truly mind. 

The locker room is small, just as Taehyun expected; the lighting is dim and there isn’t much room to move due to the benches that line the walkways— Taehyun frowns at the inconvenient layout. At the end of the wall to his left, he finds a doorway to another room— he catches a glimpse of showers and bathroom stalls; the water runs on that side of the room, and Taehyun can already guess who might be behind the flimsy wall that separates them. Sighing, Taehyun looks for the nearest empty locker.

The sound of running water fills Taehyun’s head, blocking out everything else as he begins to think— attempting to remember all the moves Beomgyu used, trying to decipher his fighting style; his mind raced with different possibilities he could use to counter him. 

“Hey,” Taehyun is ripped out of his reverie at the firm voice, his head snapping up at the realization that they were talking to him; turning around, he’s unfazed to find The Bear staring at him blankly. 

“First time in the cage?” He asks, tilting his head as he surveys Taehyun curiously. Taehyun shakes his head in response, watching as Beomgyu only nods thoughtfully at that. It’s clear he took a moment to patch himself up, but it’s still strange to Taehyun that he’s willing to go for another match so soon— his cockiness only fuels Taehyun further. 

“It sure does look like it.” Beomgyu doesn’t bother lingering around— he’s ready, clapping Taehyun on the shoulder before he’s walking away, heading back out as he spares Taehyun one last apathetic glance. “Don’t get your hopes up too much, ‘kay? I’ll even go easy on you.” 

Taehyun says nothing. He can feel his jaw clench, trying his best to bite back another comment as he watches the older man exit the locker room; His fists tighten, the feeling of his hands tightening over the material of his wraps allowing him to calm down as he takes a steady breath. Sighing, his head is tilted back, eyes surveying the dim room for a clock— it isn’t long before he spots it above the doorway, calculating how much time he has left to prepare. 

Ten minutes.

That’s more than enough for him.

⊹⊹⊹

The cage is freshly cleaned. It reeks of cleaner and is scuffed and old under Taehyun’s feet. He has no interest in hearing about the fight that went on before his— the bored mumblings of the spectators were enough for him to tune everything out. The seating area wasn’t that big, but it was enough for the people that were more than ready to gamble and waste away from alcohol as they watched; it didn’t take a genius to know that the regulations in the place weren’t very strict. 

There’s someone new standing in the cage— a commentator, Taehyun realizes. He looks like he could be a fighter himself, but the fire in his eyes seems to be curated more for the thrill of commentating every detail of the fights before him. Words spill rapidly from his mouth, but Taehyun can’t bring himself to tune in; his bright platinum hair is glowing, even under the flickering lights, and the commentator’s names manages to slip through the walls of Taehyun’s concentration— Taeyong, with his co-commentator, Jeno. 

It’s clear they’re here to do nothing more than build up tension, making useless comments that make the audience cheer or roar with disapproval. Taeyong is gesturing wildly, pointing to the fighter’s separate corners as he seems to be talking about them; Taehyun can feel the searing stares of the people around him.

Beomgyu stands across from him, his hair pulled back and his face gone dead as he stares at Taehyun— he doesn’t look away for a second. His hands are left at his sides, fingers clenching around his wraps as he tilts his head side to side; Taehyun hears the faint crack of his bones, even from where he stands. He frowns, beginning to feel antsy the longer the commentators take— from the corner of his eye, he sees Jin enter the ring, nodding to Taeyong and Jeno as they shake hands.

Taehyun takes a slow breath, jaw clenching as he feels his teeth bite into his mouth guard. He can feel his impatience growing the longer he stares at The Bear, watching as the man before him only smiles mischievously at him; he’s pacing around his side, eyes pinned to Taehyun as though he were a predator ready to strike. 

The Bear’s eyes light up the moment the two commentators exit the ring. 

Their voices still ring out through the speakers, spewing random things about the scene as Jin beckons the two to approach him. 

“I want a clean, fair fight.” Jin begins, reaching out to clasp the two’s shoulders, “You know the rules. Protect yourself at all times, touch gloves if you want to.” 

A beat passes as Jin glances at the two fighters— Taehyun does nothing; Beomgyu only grins at that. 

Sighing, Jin backs away from the two, clapping his hands before he points back to their respective sides. 

“Back to your corners,” Jin yells, huffing as he backs away, mumbling under his breath as he does so, “let’s get this over with.”

Taehyun’s hands come up instinctively, eyes narrowing as he waits for the familiar sound of the bell. Beomgyu does the same, his stance opening as an undeniable smile graces his lips; if Taehyun didn’t know better, he’d almost think this was nothing but a game to him.

His body tenses the moment the bell rings throughout the room, his mind racing as he watches Beomgyu begin to make his way to him.

Nothing happens at first; they circle each other, Taehyun’s feet pacing quickly around the cage as he waits for a good opening. The useless chatter of the commentators threatens to break his concentration, but he knows better than to pay attention to anything other than the man before him. 

Beomgyu throws the first punch. A sharp jab is directed toward his head, but it doesn’t land as Taehyun sharply moves away. Everything changes in an instant; the moment Beomgyu puts his arm out is the moment Taehyun begins to look for a weakness. It’s a rapid flow of punches and dodges, the commentators making a fuss over everything as nothing connects properly.

Beomgyu’s punches are strong; Taehyun’s forearms ache at the impact, jumping back the moment Beomgyu attempts to land a kick— a liver shot, Taehyun realizes with a small smile. 

The two boys are equally matched, and it isn’t long before the crowd catches onto that fact— suddenly the fight has become more interesting, and Taehyun can sense everyone’s eyes on them as he watches Beomgyu prep for another kick, the minuscule mistake of his rear hand coming down giving Taehyun the perfect opening. 

Taehyun’s body twists violently, his right hand swinging around as he aims for Beomgyu’s head; the impact sends the crowd roaring. 

He feels his fist come in contact with a wound from his previous fight, his brow splitting back open as Beomgyu winces at the feeling— he wobbles slightly from the shock, his eye squinting as blood begins to trickle down.

“You motherfucker,” Beomgyu’s lips read, snarling at Taehyun as his guard seems to be raised. His arms immediately come back up, protecting his head as another of Taehyun’s punches threatens to connect. With his body exposed, Taehyun is unable to stop the kick that shoots straight at him, at the same spot as before; He feels his vision blur for a second as his breath is knocked out of him. 

Beomgyu is coming back for more as the last counts for the round are yelled out. Jabs and kicks are exchanged in rapid fire, and it’s all lost in a blur of motion as the two attempt to weaken the other— the bell rings, signaling the end of the round. 

Back in his corner, Taehyun is surprised to find that Beomgyu has no coach. He’s just like him, forced to tend to his wounds and think of a new strategy on his own; Taehyun is surprised The Bear was able to land such strong hits with his vision impaired so badly. 

Beomgyu is a ruthless fighter; he has technique and experience, and it seems that all mercy will fly out the window the moment he catches his opponent in a vulnerable spot— Taehyun just needs to make sure to not give him the opportunity.

“Ready?” Jin’s strong yell breaks through both of the fighter’s minds, and it isn’t long before Taehyun finds himself back in the center of the ring, adjusting his mouthpiece as he doesn’t bother paying attention to Jin’s rambles. 

“Knock ‘em out Bear, get this over with,” it’s the only thing that catches Taehyun’s attention, the sharp glare he sends to Jin doing nothing as he’s told to go back to his corner— though he doesn’t miss the smug look that Beomgyu sends him. 

The new round is immediate; there’s a fire in Taehyun’s eyes, his body pumping with adrenaline as he immediately approaches Beomgyu, unsurprised to find that he does the same. His breathing is slightly labored as the exhaustion from the last round seems to be catching up to him, but Taehyun doesn’t let the feeling deter him as Beomgyu attempts to deliver another kick; Taehyun counters it with one of his own. 

Nothing seems to land properly; it’s beginning to frustrate Taehyun, but he knows not to let the feeling linger too long— he’s found himself cornered, and it isn’t long before he’s wrapped up in a clinch; The Bear’s limbs constrict his, tightening around him as he attempts to wrestle him to the ground, his punches directing jabs to his ribs and face— one connects roughly against his nose, and he can already feel the familiar liquid dripping out. It’s painful, but Taehyun doesn’t let the feeling overwhelm him as he tries to break the other’s hold on him.

Though he finds himself on the floor, he’s able to break away from The Bear’s grapple, shaking himself off as he backs away, attempting to reassess the situation before him. 

Something shifts in his opponent. 

Time is running out in the round, and they both seem to realize this as punches are delivered in a more rapid fire. Taehyun hates to think it, but The Bear’s technique is good as his hits begin to fly before him, struggling to keep up as he delivers a few of his own.

One lands against the side of Beomgyu’s head; it manages to break his concentration, the hook breaking through him as it connects harshly to the man’s jaw. Taehyun can already feel his body moving before he realizes, his body seemingly moving on its own like instinct. Beomgyu manages to get a jab of his own, but it does nothing against the next punch that has him stumbling back, his vision spinning as Taehyun continues to go after him, preparing for one final move.

A roundhouse kick— straight to his liver, stunning the man as he feels his body begin to scream at him from the impact, leaving Taehyun stumbling from his horrible footing. He’s only able to get a few more punches out before Beomgyu’s falling, the referee screaming at Taehyun to back away from him the moment he falls back.

Adrenaline fills Taehyun’s body the moment he processes everything.

The crowd roars at the spectacle; Taehyun doesn’t realize what he’s doing as he roams before Beomgyu— his wounds sting and his skin is red and bruised as he grins, teeth gritting against his mouthpiece as he smiles, not bothering to wipe away the blood that drips down from his wounds— the cage is stained with it, a mark of his territory as adrenaline courses through his veins; his eyes scan over the crowd, filled with people who were set on him losing— he can only laugh at the sight.  

“Get up,” Jin yells at Beomgyu, attempting to break through the noise as he pats his cheek, “can you get up?”

Beomgyu’s nod is slow and defeated. He’s sitting up and leaning against the cage as the bell tolls like a deadly gong around him. Peering through his heavy lids, he sees Taehyun’s celebration, in a condition no better than his as he’s stumbling to the center to meet Jin.

“Impressive,” Jin admits quietly, and just like he’s seen before, his hand is thrust up as the audience cheers wildly, the proud grin taking energy from Taehyun as his posture slouches slightly.

Despite looking down at him, Jin looks surprised— impressed, even. The thought makes Taehyun smile as he tilts his head back, squinting at the bright lights that are hot on his skin, a long exhale leaving him as he laughs once more; he was just getting started.

⊹⊹⊹

Taehyun’s head feels as though it’s been split open; he doesn’t really remember what happened after his win. 

He can’t bring himself to move, a deep sigh escaping him as he winces at the bright lights above him; the cot he lays on is stiff, the uncomfortable paper beneath him crinkling as he attempts to get slightly comfortable— his face is stiff with bandages.

Another fight seems to be going on outside; the annoying ramblings of the commentators seem to seep into where he is. Taehyun is too tired to linger around, so he attempts to put the last of his energy into sitting up properly— his thoughts are interrupted by the loud footsteps that approach the room. 

“Beomgyu!” The voice is angry, growling with frustration as the door swings open. Taehyun attempts to look up at the sound, but it’s futile as the curtain around his cot obscures his view. 

“Beomgyu, you fucker!” Taehyun winces— his head is throbbing at the intrusion, and his eyes shut tightly in hopes that the newcomer will shut up soon. “You little snake, you’re dead meat!”

“Can you please quiet down?” The voice that was once taunting and dripping with confidence is now gruff and tired— Taehyun can recognize that voice anywhere, and suddenly, his urge to leave is only amplified. 

“Jesus, I don’t get why you always come here screaming like that,” Beomgyu says, exhaustion sowed in his voice, “It’s not like it’ll change anything.” 

“Fuck! Look at you!” The woman pushes past all his irritated comments, and Taehyun hears both protests from Beomgyu and the crinkling of paper, “I can’t believe you, how the hell am I gonna explain this to your mother? You know she hates it when you sneak over here!” 

“Chill with that, I can handle myself just fine,” Beomgyu scoffs, “You should be more worried about the other guy, anyway— gave him a good beating.” 

Taehyun scoffs at that. 

“The other guy?” The woman says, and before Taehyun can prepare himself, he hears footsteps approaching where he lays— the curtain is ripped away without warning, and Taehyun hisses at the lights that shine in his eyes. 

“Holy shit!”

He’s not sure if he should be offended by that, but Taehyun keeps his eyes shut in hopes that the woman will simply turn her attention back to Beomgyu; he’s surprised to feel her approaching him more. 

“Jesus Christ,” she mumbles, observing Taehyun as though he were a spectacle; Taehyun takes a deep breath, hoping that his patience doesn’t run out soon, “Beomgyu, you prick!”

“Hey,” Taehyun grumbles, brows twitching in frustration as he screws his eyes shut, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t scream in my ear.” 

“Oh shit,” The woman jumps back at his words— almost as though she hadn’t expected him to be awake. One look at his angry expression has her quieting down, whispering a soft apology before she’s turning back to Beomgyu. 

“You little snake,” she hisses, whispering angrily as she crosses her arms on her chest angrily, “you were supposed to come help unload the delivery today! You were the only strong one available that day, so imagine your mother’s surprise when you’re nowhere in sight!” 

Peeking through his lids, Taehyun is able to catch a glimpse of the woman stomping over to Beomgyu, slapping his arm roughly as he yelps in response; the sight is almost amusing. 

“I had to lie my ass off and say you were fucking studying!” Another rough smack is delivered to his arm, as though her mentioning the incident brings back pure rage, “Of course she didn’t believe me at first! So I volunteered to do it myself! My arms are so sore, you fucker!” 

“Don’t seem sore to me,” Beomgyu grumbles, rubbing his bicep as he scoots away from the violent woman. “I’ll make it up to you, ___. I promise.”

The woman, ___, only shakes her head in disappointment. Turning back around, she stalks her way back to Taehyun. 

“Sorry about his recklessness,” she says, and Taehyun’s eyes only widen as she bows in apology— he sits up, wincing as he awkwardly attempts to shake her off. Standing straight, she huffs, hands folded neatly in front of her as she sends him a polite smile.

“___,” she introduces, fishing in her pocket for something; a business card, he realizes. “Feel free to stop by for a meal— on the house. I promise we don’t condone that one’s behavior,” Beomgyu quietly dismisses her, saying that he’s not that different from me; his words don’t seem to reach her. 

The card is cool and smooth in his fingers, and Taehyun nods softly as he watches her bow again; then she’s walking back to Beomgyu, sending him a sickly sweet smile as she leans in.

“Two hours. You better be back for the dinner rush. Or else,” wordlessly, she brings up a fist, slamming it into her open palm in a clear threat. Beomgyu gulps, the action not as subtle as he wished as he nods nervously. Straightening up, she smiles, ruffling Beomgyu’s hair before she leaves— it isn’t until then that Beomgyu clears his throat, calling after her hurriedly. 

“Hey,” He yells, pointing at her accusingly— yet she doesn’t turn back around once, his words falling on deaf ears as they watch her retreat, “Stop giving out free meals like that, you’ll go broke doing this shit!” 

Swiftly, she flicks him off. 

Then, she’s gone. 

Taehyun has to stifle a laugh as Beomgyu huffs in bewilderment, clearing his throat in an attempt to hide it the moment Beomgyu sends him a killer glare. From the corner of his eye, Beomgyu runs his hand through his hair desperately, cursing quietly to himself as he stares at the doorway, then glances back up at the clock— it’s silent save for the quiet mutterings of the man next to him. 

The door opens again, and Jin walks inside.

“___ just left?” He asks, leaning against the doorway as he looks expectantly at Beomgyu; he nods, a frustrated look on his face at the very mention of the woman. Jin groans, shaking his head as he lets out a deep sigh. 

“Damn. I promised Jungkook I’d try to make her stay a while.” Beomgyu sneers at that, throwing his pillow at the referee as Jin dodges it with ease, a squeaky laugh escaping him before he throws it back at the younger man. 

“Tell him to go find her at that damn restaurant if he’s so interested,” Beomgyu snarls, rolling his eyes at Jin’s amused reaction. Laying back down, he pulls the curtains back around his cot, his voice muffled as he calls out, “And you better not be thinking about going for that free meal, newbie.”

It becomes Taehyun’s turn to sneer. 

⊹⊹⊹

Beomgyu is dead meat.

It’s the only thought that runs through your mind, glaring at the cutting board beneath you as vegetables fly through your hands. All the background noise dies as you allow yourself to think, glancing back at the clock in hopes that the next hour will pass by quickly. 

You’re not sure what led him to involve himself so deeply in that strange underground MMA club. It was dangerous and untrustworthy— you and his mother made sure to drill that into his head the first time you caught him messing around. 

Even so, it seems as though your efforts only fall short in the end. No matter how much you team up with his mother, telling him that he should consider taking up the business in the future, or god forbid, actually focus on college, it always ends up in him shrugging you off dumbly, or waving you off as he tells you not to worry—  he knows what he’s doing. 

You’re on autopilot as you sift through the countless orders, the small open layout of the kitchen allowing you to peek at the entrance from time to time—all in false hopes of seeing the young boy you always pestered.

Two years isn’t much of a difference, but god, Beomgyu made it feel like it was sometimes. Most of the time you felt more like an older sister than an employee at his mother’s restaurant— it wasn’t your fault the man was quite the nuisance, your schedule becoming much more consistent and forcing you to see him practically all the time, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself wrapped up in the Choi family's personal lives. 

Five minutes. You think to yourself, gritting your teeth as the next hour passes, you’ll give him five more minutes.

The next five minutes pass seamlessly. 

Honestly, was two hours not enough? You get that Beomgyu was very particular about his appearance despite his interest, but two hours was more than enough for a person to patch themselves up and come back home. You attempted to not let your frustration show, averting your eyes the moment Ms. Choi appears in your peripheral vision, mumbling in curiosity about where her son might be. 

Another five minutes pass— then, thirty. The restaurant is beginning to fill up as it always does, and you’re trying to hone your concentration in hopes that your undying rage won’t seep through your face. The sound of the bell ringing breaks through your thoughts, and you look up automatically to greet the new customer. 

Your grip on your knife tightens. 

“He—“ Ms. Choi gulps, her jaw dropping at the sight as she turns frantically to you. Taking in your expression she sighs, exasperated as she rubs at her face in frustration. “He wasn’t studying, was he?”  

Making eye contact with Beomgyu, you allow your muscle memory to take over, cutting through the vegetables effortlessly as you grit your teeth, not looking away from him for a second. 

“No ma’am.”

His mother is speechless as she scoffs in frustration, cursing at her son under her breath before she’s taking off her apron— you don’t bother glancing back at the younger boy as you turn back to your cooking, the sounds of the Choi’s hushed bickering reaching your ears as they go to the back. 

It takes a while before Beomgyu emerges, patched up and pouting as walks up behind you. 

“Where do you want me,” he says, petulant with his tone as he glances at the workers around him; they barely spare him a glance, all too used to his behaviors as they focus on their orders instead. You hum in thought, looking up from your stove as you survey the area— like always, Beomgyu has managed to sneak in toward the end of the rush hour; it’s not like you’re short-staffed in the kitchen, either. 

“Go bus tables,” you say, rolling your eyes at the way Beomgyu whines at your words. He’s as annoying as ever, pulling at your sleeves in an attempt to get your attention as you refuse to look at him; shrugging him off, you hear him groan behind you. 

“You never let me help in the kitchen,” he protests, and it takes all the strength within you to not turn around and smack him. 

“If you arrived an hour earlier, you would’ve,” you hiss, waving him off, you walk past him as he opens his mouth to protest more, “get to work.” 

His mumbles and whines still reach your ears as he exits the kitchen— and it only takes one sharp glare from you to shut him up. For the rest of your shift, all you can think is how spoiled this boy remains— he doesn’t know how lucky he is, watching as his mother finally grows soft on him, shooing him back to their home to rest as he meekly nods at her words, putting an act of weakness as he immediately leaves his position— but the smug smile he adorns as he hangs up his apron doesn’t go unnoticed by you. 

Sighing, you glance back at the clock— two more hours, then you close. 

⊹⊹⊹

“You’re still here?” 

You refuse to respond to that— instead, you grit your teeth, scrubbing at a stain on the bar as you continue to pre-close. Beomgyu sighs, sitting at the bar as he leans on the counter, seemingly paying no mind to the damp wood that comes in contact with his sleeves. He’s desperate to get your attention, calling your name out softly as you continue to ignore him. 

“Are you closing today? Why is it just you?”

“Sent everyone home. They helped enough.”

If the place remained as empty as it is now, the only thing you would need to do is clean the floors and machines— which takes little to no effort for you. Beomgyu shakes his head at your words, sitting up straight as he folds his hands in his lap. 

“I’ll help,” his words are immediately met with a scoff from you, his brows furrowing as he watches you shake your head in amusement— you only laugh more as he softly questions why you’re laughing. 

“Help?” You say, tilting your head as you finally look at him. Throwing the wet towel on the counter, you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you take a step back. 

“I asked for your help— three hours ago. Yet you still chose to be a brat and go back upstairs the moment your mother pitied you. You—“ cutting yourself off, you sigh, shaking your head before you’re picking the wet towel back off, turning your back to him, “I hope you realize how much she spoils you.” 

A twinge of embarrassment threatens to consume you due to your outburst, for the silence that follows after is entirely unexpected— usually, Beomgyu never knows when to shut his mouth. Then again, he never really knew what to say when the topic of his parent arose; he was afraid of saying something insensitive to you, you suppose. 

Yet you refuse to be the one to cave in— you refuse to even make eye contact with him, walking out of the kitchen area as you go to wipe down tables; it’s then that the small bell above the restaurant door rings. 

Mentally, you sigh— there was less than an hour left; nevertheless, you plaster on a cheery smile, straightening as you glance behind you and to the new customer; stiffening, you wince as you try to not let your surprise show through.

“Welcome,” you grit out, meeting eyes with the same man Beomgyu had beaten to a pulp a couple of hours ago— yet he seems perfectly fine, patched up and unphased as he sends you a somber nod, your worries that he’d be another bitter fighter that tracked Beomgyu down dispelled.

“You—!” Beomgyu is back to his awfully rambunctious self in a split second, twisted around in his seat as he sends the man by the entrance a sour look. “I told you not to come here!” 

Taehyun pays no mind to the dirty looks Beomgyu sends him— if anything, he smiles, ever so casual in his demeanor as he goes to sit down; next to Beomgyu, of course. 

“This place any good?” He asks, his voice gruff as he leans into Beomgyu cheekily, “you seem really eager to keep it hidden.” 

“You kidding? You’re at the hottest spot in town,” Beomgyu scoffs, puffing his chest out as he leers at Taehyun “I doubt you’ve never heard of this place.”

Their conversation becomes nothing but a muffled mess to you. Their tension is unending as they converse, their eyes filled with a fire that suggests that they might just forget about the food and fight here and now— which is why you step in, not wanting to clean up after any more messes as you take Taehyun’s order. 

At some point, you find yourself tuning back into their conversation— their rivalry is ridiculous, the tension rolling off in waves as you take a breath; Turning around, you go to place Taehyun’s order in front of him, reluctant to meet his eyes as you go to leave. 

“Hope I didn’t scare you off today,” Beomgyu goads, ever the instigator as he rests his chin in his hand cheekily, “but then again, you did ask for it.” 

Taehyun scoffs— it’s enough for you to turn back around, watching from afar in fear that Beomgyu will try to take things too far. 

“Don’t act like you left the ring all perfect,” Taehyun tilts his head, brows furrowing as he inspects Beomgyu, “Remind me, who was it that won?” 

You bite back a laugh at that, surprised to hear the results of the fight— it’s easy to do when Beomgyu is sitting up, a clear fire lighting in his eyes as he leans closer to Taehyun; his food remains untouched. You’re tense, watching carefully and waiting for a switch to flip inside Beomgyu; the last thing you want is for his mother to come down and find him in the middle of another fight. 

Instead, Beomgyu smiles; it’s a small twitch of his lips at first, his mind clearly telling him to fight it off before it overtakes him, a bewildered laugh escaping him before he’s clapping Taehyun on the shoulder, the action so rough and sudden that Taehyun is flinching from his touch. Beomgyu doesn’t say anything, lost in his thoughts as he continues to laugh— you’re unsure if he’s getting ready to throw a punch or not. 

“You…” Beomgyu grins, letting go of Taehyun with a sigh. He shakes his head, huffing in amusement before he continues, “I like you, you’ve got ambition.”

“The ring’s closed tomorrow, but it’s available for training. I’ve been needing a new sparring partner,” Beomgyu trails off, and Taehyun is quick to catch on as he frowns.

“Tomorrow?” Beomgyu nods in confirmation. It’s silent, and you’re making your way back to them as Taehyun seems to ponder it. 

“You won’t be free tomorrow Beomgyu,” you say, grabbing his attention as you send him a warning smile, “You’re helping with a catering order, remember?”

Beomgyu, shameless like always, only tilts his head in innocence. 

“Really? I don’t recall you telling me about it,” Beomgyu ponders, pouting slightly as you glare at him, “plus, I was told you would be fully staffed tomorrow— if anything, I remember my mother suggesting you give some people a day off.”

You have no patience to deal with his sly ways— your jaw clenches as you suppress the urge to jump at him from across the counter, crossing your arms over your chest as you raise a brow in disbelief. 

“If you need help, you could always keep those people on standby,” you’re unsure of what annoys you more— Beomgyu’s smug look, or Taehyun, who has finally decided to eat his food as he watches the two of you, clearly amused by what’s happening before him as he doesn’t even attempt to hide his smile.

“Good idea,” you grit out, leaning toward the younger man as you smile, “I should let your mother know you’ll be out tomorrow then; I’m sure she’ll be wondering where you went off to.”

“You know, for a mere worker, you sure are involved in our personal lives.” Beomgyu’s words are hissed out and sting like acid as your eyes widen, gritting your teeth together as you watch Beomgyu sit back in realization— as though he didn’t know what he said until now. 

“You’re right. Sorry,” you say, a gritted smile on your face as you go to fetch a takeout container; returning, you place it in front of Taehyun, ignoring his curious gaze as you send him a patient smile. 

“We closed fifteen minutes ago; sorry, but you can take the food with you if you’d like— on me. I’ll be back, if you need anything let him know,” jerking your head to Beomgyu, you ignore his attempts to call your attention back to him as you bow politely, quick to excuse yourself to the bathroom in a weak attempt to soothe your hurt and anger. 

The restaurant is quiet save for the soft ticking of a clock that hangs above them; a sound of warning as Taehyun glances subtly at the man next to him— whether Beomgyu picks up on it or not is beyond him. He’s frowning, bottom lip chewed and tugged at as he stares at the doorway which you disappeared through, a hand running repeatedly through his hair as he lets out a soft curse. 

“What was that about?” Taehyun asks— whether or not he’s crossing a boundary, he’s unsure— but he does know that he truly doesn’t care enough to gauge the older man’s reaction. He’s quick to finish his food, surprised by the quality of it as he peeks at Beomgyu from the corner of his eye; watching the way Beomgyu seems to ponder whether or not to talk, inevitably giving in as he lets out a heavy sigh. 

“I fucked up. Said something I shouldn’t have,” standing up, Beomgyu slides the stool he sat on back in, shaking his head as he goes to turn off the blaring open sign— he’s quiet, lost in thought as he carries out the usual closing duties. 

“My offer is still open, by the way,” Beomgyu calls out, and before Taehyun can say anything, he clicks his tongue in frustration, “I doubt she’ll wanna see me tomorrow.” 

Taehyun says nothing. Beomgyu doesn’t bother trying to convince him, muttering out a tired one p.m under his breath, unable to help the way his eyes travel back to the hallway you disappeared to now and then— it isn’t long before Taehyun is bidding goodbye, the offer left out in the open as Beomgyu is forced to sit with his own thoughts, ignoring the way his muscles ache or his wounds throb whenever he performs a certain task. 

It takes a while before you come back out— you refuse to look at Beomgyu as the two of you clean in silence, your face left blank and cold as Beomgyu fails to decipher what you might be thinking; even though he wishes nothing more than to take back what he said, he finds his words stuck in his throat every time he looks at you. 

You don’t bother saying goodbye when you leave.

⊹⊹⊹

“Were you lying when you said you’ve been in the cage before?” 

Taehyun rolls his eyes at the older man's words, a scoff escaping him as he chooses not to answer. Beomgyu watches with amusement as the man before him looks away, neck tilting side to side as he feels it crack with ease. The air is hot and there isn’t much light coming in from the small windows atop the room, cracked open to let the cool wintry air inside. Yet it doesn’t seem to help a lot, the two men in the cage weathered down and sweaty from hours of sparring. 

“You’re quite annoying, you know,” Taehyun grumbles, wiping away his sweat before he begins to stretch, preparing for another round as he looks back to Beomgyu— he seems unfazed by his comment, a smug grin overtaking him as he mimics his stretching.

“So I’ve been told,” Beomgyu pouts, straightening up as he waits for Taehyun to approach, “how long have you been doing this?” 

Beomgyu has his own guesses as Taehyun throws a careless jab— he’s tired, not putting any effort into his movements as he dodges Beomgyu’s own hits with ease. 

“Little over two years. It’s been nothing but a hobby until recently though,” Taehyun admits, stepping back as he puts his arms down, “didn’t know this place was a thing.” 

“It’s been running for four years, actually,” Beomgyu says, sighing as he lowers his guard as well; he takes this time to rest, feeling the way his body is beginning to ache from the activity, “Jin and a couple others started it for fun. It’s only recently that things turned serious.”

Taehyun thinks of the referee— and his clear bias with Beomgyu— and frowns, realizing that the very same man he met yesterday was the owner of the building. Shaking his head, he sighs— then jumps back at the unexpected jab Beomgyu sends to him in warning. 

He has no time to complain; his arms immediately come up for defense as Beomgyu seems to have regained his energy, a mischievous smile plastered on his face as he lands a hook on Taehyun— he groans at the feeling, stumbling back as he attempts to regain his composure. 

Before he can regain stability, he’s pulled into another clinch— Beomgyu’s got him good, unable to keep his balance as Beomgyu pulls him into a tight chokehold; He’s trapped, unable to get away as he’s forced to tap out. 

“You know, I’ve noticed quite a few things about the way you fight,” Beomgyu says, ignoring the way Taehyun gives him a pointed glare, “you give all your energy in the first round— you need to be able to conserve your energy, you know.”

Though all Taehyun does is roll his eyes, he secretly takes note of the older man’s comment; he noticed Beomgyu had been giving him pointers the entire time, and he would be a fool to not take advice from the club’s toughest fighter— Taehyun’s pride could only stretch so far. 

Silently, they decide to take a break; there was no use in practicing if neither of them had the energy to throw a proper punch. Exiting the cage, Taehyun lets out a groan as he immediately takes a seat at one of the benches before him— annoyingly, his water bottle is empty again, and he’s forced to trudge to the only water fountain in the building that’s been placed all the way by the entrance; he grimaces at the thought of having to drink water from such a rusty old thing, but the dehydrated scratch of his throat isn’t giving him much of an option. 

Taehyun isn’t too phased when the doors slam open; there have been a few other fighters that have come in while they were sparring, so he figures this must be another regular as he keeps his eyes on the water fountain— it isn’t until he hears haste footsteps and lows cursing that he looks up in curiosity. 

“Of course he would be here,” you’re as irritated as always as you push past Taehyun without much more of a glance, your brows knitted together in annoyance as you make a beeline to the cage— Taehyun gets the privilege of getting front seats to the scene as he leans back in amusement, taking a sip of his cool water before grimacing at the taste. 

“Hey!” You yell, jumping up on the outskirts of the cage and glaring at Beomgyu, who has the audacity to look up at you with puppy eyes as he lays spread out in the center of the ring, “do you always have to be here? Why don’t you go do normal things for once?” 

Taehyun can hear you grumbling something about the long drive and shady district, but it’s left an unintelligible mess as he watches Beomgyu sit up, wincing slightly in the process. 

“You knew I was gonna be here,” is all he says, ticking his head side to side as loud cracks ring throughout the empty building, “plus you’re acting like you couldn’t have called.”

You can’t seem to control the bewildered laugh that escapes you at his words, eyes widening as you jump back down from your place; crossing your arms, you sit down at a bench, jaw clenched as you shoot Beomgyu a lethal glare. 

“You think I didn’t try?” You ask, crossing your legs as you tap at your bicep in annoyance, “your phone is always in the damn locker room!”

“Alright, whatever!” Beomgyu says, throwing his hands up in defeat, “what do you need now.”

“Two of our workers called off. Your mother wants you to come back and help with the catering order,” you say, your gaze cold as you watch Beomgyu begin to whine at you, giving you excuses that you don’t bother to listen to as you shake your head. 

“Listen to your mother and go. Quick,” you say, not wanting to linger any longer as you stand up, leaving without so much as a goodbye as you’re rushing back out again. 

“Yeah, listen to your mother,” Taehyun teases, raising a brow as you snap your head towards him, delivering a cold glare that only makes Taehyun grin, much to your annoyance; he can hear you muttering curses under your breath as you slam the doors open, the sound of your rambling only amusing Taehyun further as he makes his way back to Beomgyu. 

“Crazy how you let yourself get pushed around like that,” Taehyun knows he’s only instigating, but it’s amusing to watch the older man get worked up as he simply huffs in annoyance, cursing under his breath in the same manner you did— he can see where Beomgyu gets his short temper from. 

“I don’t.” he snaps, but the way he’s already beginning to pack up says otherwise; there’s defeat in all his actions as he becomes sluggish, trudging to the locker room where he reluctantly begins to change, “come back here tomorrow, same time— I need to show you something.” 

Beomgyu leaves shortly afterward— the annoyance in his mood has yet to go away as he glances back at the ring one last time, watching solemnly as Taehyun continues to shadow box without him. For a second, he almost considers dropping his responsibilities and going for another round, but your fiery and threatening voice echoes in his head, allowing him to finally leave as a shiver goes through his body. 

⊹⊹⊹

“Stupid workers… making me clean up after their mess…” Beomgyu thinks he might go insane if he has to pack another to-go tray filled with the same order, his mind fried and his hands on auto-pilot as he watches you busily cook out of the corner of his eye. You’re as stone-cold and intimidating as always, sending Beomgyu a sharp glare every time you catch him slacking off— it’s eerie, the way you can almost sense it, never giving Beomgyu a break as you stress the fact that you need to have the order done by the next thirty minutes. 

He’s almost done, so he doesn’t feel as rushed as you do— then again, you may just be on edge due to the fact that you’ve been pulling the weight of the two workers that called off as well as your regular tasks; the sight is enough to have Beomgyu irritated once more. 

You work way too hard for your own good; it’s a fact that Beomgyu always calls you out on, but you’re always just as quick to dismiss it as you shake your head in denial, telling him that he’s overreacting. Yet, as he watches you now, stressed and irritated, he can practically feel himself biting his tongue to prevent calling you out on it. 

The catering order is finished with ease; Beomgyu can feel a weight lift off him the moment a delivery person takes the order from him— the same can be said for you— and he’s almost ready to leave when his eyes catch sight of a new patron that walks in. 

The place has calmed down a bit, so it’s relatively empty— meaning, there should be no reason for Beomgyu to linger around anymore. Yet, he can’t help but be nosy and stay as he watches Jungkook beeline towards you, confident and handsome as always as he sends you a beaming smile.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” you remark sarcastically, leaning against the bar counter as you match Jungkook’s mischievous grin, “the usual?” 

“You know me so well,” Jungkook coos, and the exchange is enough to have Beomgyu straightening up— he’s never seen Jungkook at the restaurant before, let alone the two of you talking so casually to each other. 

Neither of you seem to catch Beomgyu’s analytic stare, much too caught up in your own world to notice anything around you; even the new customer that comes in through the door, trudging over to the bar as he sits a few seats away from Jungkook— Beomgyu is the first to notice as he quickly makes his way over.

“The hell are you doing here?” 

The smile Taehyun sends is pure evil as he leans on the bar, crossing his arms and tilting his head as he raises a brow at Beomgyu’s pointed question. 

“Here to eat, what else?” Beomgyu says nothing in response, his eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed as he takes Taehyun’s order, “and if you’re done eavesdropping on their conversations over there, I’d like to know what you were talking about earlier— I’m not exactly free tomorrow.”

The man’s words are enough to have Beomgyu standing straight, sending Taehyun a glare as he grits his teeth at the comment. “Am not.” 

“Come on, be slick about it at least,” Taehyun sighs, eyeing the two of you from the corner of his eye, watching as you continue to converse with the customer— it takes a moment, but Taehyun is able to recognize the patron as he looks back at Beomgyu, pointing their way as he asks, “the hell is the bartender from the club doing here?” 

“That’s Jungkook,” Beomgyu mutters, putting his notepad away as stops to watch the two of you carefully for a second, “and that’s what I’m wondering myself. It’s clearly not to eat.” 

“Yeah, who gives a fuck,” Taehyun grumbles, watching as Beomgyu reaches in his pocket for a piece of paper— pausing, he takes a second to examine Beomgyu, biting his lip as he fights back a smile, “hey, you jealous?” 

“Shut up,” Beomgyu groans, rolling his eyes as he turns his back to you, jaw clenched as he narrows his eyes at Taehyun, who’s only left smiling in return, “she’s basically family, don’t even assume shit.” 

“Not what you said last time I was here,” Taehyun’s words have Beomgyu pausing entirely, forced to take a second to breathe as he takes in the younger man before him. 

“You’re an instigating little bitch, huh?” Is all Beomgyu can utter, watching as Taehyun simply laughs at his words, clearly unaffected by Beomgyu’s anger, “you better keep your mouth shut if you wanna stay in here.” 

“Alright, do your thing,” Taehyun sighs, putting his hands up in defeat. A moment passes, and Taehyun huffs out a laugh, his eyes falling to the piece of paper Beomgyu pushes forward before he continues, “This better be good.” 

Beomgyu watches as Taehyun begins to scan the paper, turning away so he can put the younger’s order in as he does. Once finished, he pauses, leaning against the wall as he waits for Taehyun to finish—Taehyun can practically feel the said man’s stare burn into his skin as he reads the information carefully, eyes widening as takes it all in; looking up, he finds Beomgyu’s eyes effortlessly.

Folding the paper back up carefully, Beomgyu makes his way back over, surprised you haven’t swooped in and asked what’s going on yet; hurriedly, he gets tries to get his point across, leaning in close to Taehyun and sending him an excited smile as he watches Taehyun open his mouth to ask questions immediately.

“How did you find this?” He asks, searching Beomgyu’s eyes as he watches the older man take the flier back, running his fingers over the creases in an absentminded attempt to smooth them out, “who gave you this?” 

“Old friend of mine.” Beomgyu says, leaning back as he watches Taehyun do the same, crossing his arms as he watches Beomgyu with scrutinized eyes, “thought you’d be interested in this.” 

“You’re inviting me? Letting me in on this?” Taehyun asks, frown only deepening as Beomgyu nods innocently, “what makes you think I won’t just win the tournament and take the prize money for myself?” 

“That is a possibility,” Beomgyu hums, “but that’s also what makes it fun.” 

“The hell is this? FightX?” Beomgyu can’t help the way he jumps as you appear behind him, looking over him as you reach to grab the flier from his hands. Beomgyu, in a weak attempt to distract you, attempts to call Jungkook over, trying to snatch the flier back while doing so; his attempts fail miserably as he watches the way your eyes grow wide.

“Are you kidding me?” You say, taking the flier and tucking it away in your own pocket smoothly. Beomgyu only sighs, used to your antics as Taehyun can only watch with an amused look in his eyes, ever as eager to poke the bear as he finds your anger intriguing. 

“Beomgyu, I swear to god that if I see or hear anything about you in that FightX club, I’ll kill you myself.” Your hands are tense as you cross them over your chest, giving Beomgyu a pointed glare as you continue, “I don’t care about you going to Seokjin’s little place— but if you even try to go to that tournament—” 

“Hey, relax, won’t you? You wouldn’t even know what goes on in a place like that,” Taehyun’s words are enough to have your eyes widening, mouth parting in surprise as you slowly turn to the man; beside you, Beomgyu shakes his head in warning, sending Taehyun a warning glare as he mouths the words shut the fuck up. 

“What did you just say to me?” You ask incredually, leaning forward and against the counter as you examine Taehyun carefully; the man is nothing more than amused as he smiles innocently at you, standing his ground as he tilts his head like a puppy, “who are you, anyway?” 

“Someone who knows way more about what goes on in that club than you,” he says softly, a tired tsk leaving him as he takes in the twitch of your brows, watching the way you try to keep your expression neutral, “you don’t need to worry about what Beomgyu does in his personal time.”

You’re left speechless as you press your tongue against your cheek, huffing out a bewildered laugh as you take a step back; glancing at Beomgyu, you narrow your eyes at him, watching as he simply attempts to diffuse the situation with stuttered excuses and a nervous laugh, his behavior changing drastically under your heated gaze.

“I warned you.” is all you say, not bothering to regard Taehyun at all as glare at Beomgyu, turning on your heel as you hear a coworker call your name for your help. 

“What the hell man?” Beomgyu whispers, turning to Taehyun with wide eyes; the man simply shrugs, unphased by the tension as he sighs tiredly. Mind muddled with everything that just happened, he’s quick to find himself untying his apron; he’s done what you’ve asked, and he doubts that you’ll be able to force him to stick around now— especially after the confrontation you just had. 

“FightX? Yo, you’re not planning on going, are you?” Jungkook is slow to the scene as he takes a seat next to Taehyun, recognizing him as the new fighter from a while ago as he nods to him in greeting; turning to Beomgyu, he raises a brow as he waits for him to respond. 

“I don’t know. The prize money’s no joke,” Beomgyu admits, holding onto his apron as he narrows his eyes at Jungkook, who’s only shaking his head in dismay. 

“The prize money is like that for a good reason,” Jungkook warns, nudging Taehyun as he tells him to listen as well, “that place is dangerous. Both the fighters and the patrons are something else, and if you don’t have connections to the right people…” 

The way Jungkook trails off is enough to give the two younger men a gist of what he means, the troubled look in his eyes disappearing as he watches you pass by— his signature smile is back as he pats Taehyun on the back, sending Beomgyu a look before he’s standing up, ready to go to where you’re at now.

“Use your brain for once and think this one through, yeah? And you,” Jungkook says, nudging Taehyun before he leaves, “stop putting our most valuable asset in danger.”

The way Jungkook goes to you is reminiscent of a puppy, the two men watching as he goes back to shamelessly flirt with you— you seem unphased, rolling your eyes as you try to hide your smile of amusement all the while.

“Think this through,” Taehyun chimes in, bringing Beomgyu’s attention back to him, “you seem to have connections— plus, I think it’d be fun.”

The offer becomes more tempting as Beomgyu recalls the prize money that comes along with the win, and Beomgyu is left with more uncertainty than expected as he thinks back to the warnings that came along with it. 

⊹⊹⊹

Beomgyu hasn’t been home today.

He’s never home, really, so the fact should be no surprise to you. But there’s something about today that leaves you on edge, your leg bouncing under the table as you hide your unease with a shaky smile. 

“You’re such a hard worker,” Beomgyu’s mother sighs, pouring you a cup of coffee as she makes her way back to where you sit at the dinner table, “I can’t thank you enough for what you do.” 

“I should be the one thanking you,” you say, taking the warm mug from her, trying to hide your shaking hands as you cup the dish tightly, “For giving me this opportunity. For giving me a home.” 

The Choi family was the only reason you were still alive and healthy; if it weren’t for them, you’d probably still be on the streets, dependent on the money that came from shady clubs filled with dangerous people.

That was the only reason you met Beomgyu— you had just finished a fight of your own as you stumbled out of the infirmary, barely patched up as they began the men’s lightweight division fights; you only wanted to stay and bet on the fight before you before you left with the rest of your earnings, curious as to how the match before you would end. 

To say the crowd loved it was an understatement; they were sick people, and the moment they realized that one of the most experienced lightweight fighters was currently pitted against a scrawny sixteen-year-old boy, the betting pool practically tripled within seconds. 

You‘ve never seen him before; it was clear to you that he was new within seconds of watching him in the cage, from his unsure missteps, to the way his arms didn’t come down from his head for a second, wide eyes watching carefully for any opening available. 

He got beat and knocked out within minutes; the match had been more of a joke to those watching than an actual fight. His injuries were nothing to laugh at however, the cage floor littered with his blood as nurses rushed out of the infirmary for him, picking him up and carrying him away as the patrons around you remained unphased at the sight— you still remember wincing as you took in the state his opponent left him in. 

It was a general consensus within the ring that those more experienced shouldn’t be too harsh on newbies— simply out of respect for one’s opponent. But respect didn’t exist in such a place— if anything, respect wasn’t even earned after countless grueling matches in a place like FightX; it didn’t matter if you were good, the only thing that mattered was the number of wins under your belt and how much cash you walked out of the place with— which is why the patrons of such a club knew better than to mess with you. 

This was no place for a child, you remembered thinking to yourself, scoffing at the way people continued to berate and talk about the loser of the previous match. Rolling your eyes, you figured it was better to leave now than to stick around and have shady people try to strike up deals with you— wanting to become your manager, to move you further up the ladder, to share profits with you. 

It usually wasn’t a problem for you to leave; if anything, regulars knew better than to get in your way after you’ve had your fill of fights— but it had been different that day, left to push your way through as a commotion began to form at the entrance. 

“Woah, who the hell is this?” The speakers above you were booming with the commentator’s sneering remarks, the current fight before them no longer a priority as the screams of a woman tore through the crowd. 

“Please, please tell me he’s here,” the ruckus was beginning to become more of a headache to you than anything, pushing through the heaps of people in an attempt to get past the dramatic scene and back home— “home” consisting of a random motel that was cheap enough for this week’s earnings— only to pause once you were able to take in the woman’s helpless state. 

This was someone’s mother, you realize, raising a brow as you take in the way her eyes are wide with fear and worry, brimming with tears as she attempts to put on a brave front. The mocking commentary of the men continue to boom over the speakers as those around the older woman ignore her or tell her to get lost, not bothering to listen to her words as they immediately turned their backs to her. 

The boy’s mother. You realize, taking a deep breath before you walk toward the woman, grabbing onto her bicep tightly in order to gain her attention. She seemed more than ready to brush off your grip and fight to stay, but upon taking in your solemn appearance, she paused, her mouth parting as she no-doubt became ready to ask the same question she had been asking everyone else.

“Your son is over here,” you sigh out, tugging her along wordlessly— at your claim, she quickly follows, asking endless questions that you can’t even seem to keep up with. 

“Tall, scrawny, long hair?” You ask, glancing back at her to catch her nodding incredually, “around sixteen?” 

Once again, she nods, her gesture only making you sigh once more as you ignore the pressing stares of those around you. 

“Yeah, he’s this way,” you say, finally arriving at the infirmary as you’re left to scan all the cots around you; his mother seems to spot him first, exclaiming loudly before she leaves your side to run to him. 

The sight is enough to have you clenching your jaw as you lean against the doorway, arms crossed defensively over your chest as you watch the boy’s mother cry and scold the barely conscious boy. It was clear she cared for him, and the sight was foreign to you as you found yourself frozen in one place, forcing yourself to spectate a scene that you knew you’d never experience for yourself. 

You stuck around to help the woman take her son home, listening quietly as she turned to scold the boy, huffing once in a while as she observed the way you effortlessly helped him walk with an arm thrown over your shoulder— the patrons around you were wise enough to keep their comments to themselves as they flinched at the hard glares you gave them. 

“Don’t come back here kid,” you remembered telling him, dropping him in the passenger’s seat of his mothers car, rolling your eyes as he incoherently attempted to argue with you, “this place is too dangerous for someone like you.” 

“And you?” His mother’s words had been enough to snap you out of your dazed state; looking up, you had been surprised to see his mother staring at you with the same concern in her gaze, her head tilting as she scanned your bruised skin and tired face, “will you be alright here?” 

Her concern had been unexpected— so much so that you couldn’t help the way you laughed softly at her words, shaking your head as you ignored the strangely warm feeling that bloomed within you from her concern. 

“I know how to handle myself here,” you told her, jaw clenching as you watched the way she remained unconvinced. Slowly, you watched her reach in her jacket pockets, fishing around for something until she finally found it, a small ah, escaping her mouth before she finally offered you the object with polite hands; you stared at the business card she handed you, unsure of what to do until you finally accepted it after a pause. 

“Thank you so much for your help today,” she says, bowing gratefully as she looks at you with a kind smile, “if you’re ever hungry, you can always stop by. On the house.” 

The laminated card feels smooth under your fingers as you absentmindedly accept her offer, unsure of how to react to her kindness as she thanks you again; you try to ignore the way her eyes are coated with concern and pity, the emotions within you nothing but bitter as you watch her drive away. 

Shoving her card into your jacket pocket, you sigh, turning on your heels and walking back to the cheap motel that you knew was too shady to stay at for too long. If you win another match tomorrow, you might be able to stay at the better motel just a few blocks over. 

The thought was promising as you made your way back, your muscles aching and your stomach growling as you inevitably thought back to the free meal that boy’s mother promised you. 

Maybe tomorrow, you thought, pulling the card back out of your pocket to examine it, you should treat yourself after tomorrow’s fight. 

⊹⊹⊹

Your life had taken a surprising turn after that day— now you found yourself here, sitting in the home of the Choi family, welcomed as always and reformed of your ways of fighting— you only wish the same could be said for Beomgyu. 

“So,” you say, clearing your throat as you try to get the nerves out of your tone, “Where’s Beomgyu at?” 

“Oh,” she sighs, slumping down in the chair across from you as she takes a sip from her cup of coffee, “God, I don’t even know— he left really early today, didn’t even bother to let me know— he hasn’t been back since.” 

The news was odd to you; it was late already, but Beomgyu wasn’t the type to be up in the mornings, much less make any plans. You took a second to process her words, nodding absentmindedly as you took another sip from your drink— the flier you took from him seems to be weighing your pocket down now more than ever. 

He wouldn’t, the more forgiving part of you thought, he knows better than to go off to a place like that. 

But the more skeptical part of you knew better; Beomgyu was always one to be swayed easily, and with that new sparring partner of his, your trust in him only seemed to dwindle more and more. 

Taehyun had only proved himself to be a danger to Beomgyu— especially if he was so eager to get himself into a place like FightX. 

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted when the sound of a phone ringing echoed throughout the room; blinking wildly, you allow Ms. Choi to excuse herself as she leaves to answer the phone— you take this chance to take the flier out of your pocket, unfolding it carefully as your fingers smooth over the wrinkles. 

Reading it carefully, your eyes widen, biting at your lip as you feel your heart beginning to beat faster.

It was tonight.

And it started two hours ago. 

You don’t give much of an explanation to Ms. Choi as you’re standing abruptly, making your way to where she stands at the kitchen to say goodbye— you can see the confusion and concern swim in her eyes at your suddenness, but you hope that the bright, carefree smile you send her is enough to soothe her as you apologize for leaving early. 

It’s scary how easy it is for you to make your way to that club— despite it being years since you last stepped inside, you can still feel instinct take over as you’re speeding off to the tournament. 

If Beomgyu’s still alive by the time you get there, you’ll kill him yourself. 

Clenching your jaw, you pray that there are no cops around as you speed through the empty streets, your only priority clouding your mind as you run past a few red lights. 

And his little friend too. 

⊹⊹⊹ 

Beomgyu’s body feels like it’s been set alight with anxiety. 

He’s pacing around the locker room, attempting to control his breathing as he focuses on his next opponent; on his fighting style, on how to beat him. 

He’s been in this position many times— it’s like second nature to him, only the new setting seems to be affecting him more than he expected. It’s not like he’s never branched out to other underground fighting tournaments before; he’s been all around the city and even outside of it, trusting Seokjin’s judgment as he made a name for himself through it— in a way, Seokjin had almost been like a manager to him.  

But he hasn’t been here in years; six years, to be exact. He can still feel the danger that looms through these walls, feeling more trapped than anything as memories of his first match come to mind— a primal fear is prominent in every single one. 

Beomgyu is much more different than he was six years ago— both in muscle and mentality, he knows how to handle himself in such a shady place. Yet, he can’t help but remember your warnings, his brows furrowing as he feels his heart pound a little harder against his chest. 

“You overthinking things again?” Beomgyu’s spiraling train of thought is interrupted as he snaps his head over to the doorway, meeting eyes with Taehyun who sports a bright smile, much more relaxed and excited than he is.

“Can’t help it,” Beomgyu admits, sighing heavily as he turns to stretch instead, “new territory.”

“Thought you had connections to this place?” Taehyun asks, tilting his head as he listens to Beomgyu explain that while it is true, he still isn’t experienced with this club. 

“Don’t think about it too much,” Taehyun says, making his way over as he sits at the bench near Beomgyu, “the bracket looks easy today.” 

The plan was simple; make it to the end of the bracket, where Beomgyu and Taehyun would inevitably have to fight each other— the earnings would be split between the two after.

Just makes the odds of earning the prize money higher, Beomgyu had explained once Taehyun began questioning his motives, that way, both of us win, and get experience out of it.  

The prize money was already so grand that even half of it seemed more than enough for Beomgyu— and of course, the thought of returning to such a place and finally winning a grand tournament was thrilling to Beomgyu. 

The things he could do with the prize money were endless— he already had a few ideas in mind, thinking back to his hardworking mother and how much she struggled to raise him on her own while still managing her restaurant. Then he thought about you, of the hard times he gave you, knowing how much you feared him going through the same things you did, of turning to a life dependent on fighting and gambling. 

“Hey hey, focus,” Beomgyu is blinking rapidly as Taehyun claps in front of his face, laughing at the way the older man managed to zone out once more, “you’re up in three minutes, you should prepare yourself.” 

Beomgyu is nodding absentmindedly as he watches Taehyun exit, still feeling nerves creeping up his system as he wonders if this is all such a good idea; then his name is called, and the referee pops in to ask if he’s ready. 

“Yeah,” Beomgyu finds himself saying, feeling as though he’s lost control of his body as he’s walking out of the dimly lit locker room, “lets go.” 

⊹⊹⊹

“Hey, I know we haven’t talked in a while but— yeah, no need to remind me,” your voice is low and your footsteps are echoing as you walk through puddles, the smell of rain still lingering in the air as you weave your way through dark alley— the feeling is oddly reminiscent as you find yourself laughing along with your old friend on the phone.

“No, it’s serious stuff,” you sigh, turning the corner as you find the place you’ve been dreading to step inside of. A small shop meets you, the lights off and the gates closed around the windows— the unassuming shop makes your stomach churn with dread, approaching it slowly before you’re walking around its perimeter. 

“You’ll never guess where I’m back at right now— yup, the very one,” your friend’s incredulous laugh booms over the line as you let out some bitter chuckles yourself, rounding towards the back as you see a deep, ominous stairwell; faintly, you can hear the brutish screams and commentary leaking through, the sound only beginning to worsen as time passes; the sound has a deep sigh leaving you as you begin the long descend into the basement. 

“Listen, I need you and your men to be here on standby— I’m serious, you think I’d joke about this stuff?” You finally reach the bottom as you pause at the very last step, staring at the metal door that’s left at the end of the corridor. 

“Thanks. I’ll call you if I need you to come in,” you say, bidding your goodbye before you’re finally hanging up, tucking your phone in your back pocket before you’re taking a final, deep breath. 

Hopefully I won’t. You mutter, reaching forward before you’re finally opening the heavy, metal door. 

⊹⊹⊹

Beomgyu feels dizzy. 

The bracket looks easy today, Taehyun’s voice echoes in his head as he rests against the ring’s ropes, the layout different to what he’s used to as he takes a moment to recollect himself. 

Easy— the fuck was Taehyun talking about? Beomgyu feels left out as he watches his opponent talk with his coach, discussing strategies and glancing back at Beomgyu, who’s left on his own as he takes the opportunity to stretch. 

He just needed to beat the man across from him, then he was officially in the finals. The thought was the only thing that soothed him as he scanned the crowd for Taehyun, finally finding him right at the front; he was just as tired and beat as Beomgyu was, but the encouraging smile he sent Beomgyu managed to keep him on his feet a little longer— the prize money loomed over his head as he watched the referee call the next round, the fighter before Beomgyu gritting his teeth against his mouthpiece as his coach yelled at him to knock Beomgyu out. 

His opponent became predictable fairly quickly— Beomgyu’s arms came up to his head for defense as the man attempted to jab at him, only to slide down to his sides and squeeze as his opponent attempted to land a hook to his side; at his liver, to be exact. 

Chenle, Beomgyu remembers the commentators announce, his name was Chenle. 

He looked to be around his age, if not younger. The man before him was energetic and strong, but seemed to get too excited during the rounds; it seemed as though he only came into the ring with one tactic in mind, and remained persistent to knock his opponent out in one specific way— it seemed he targeted Beomgyu with liver shots. 

His punch was quite lethal— Beomgyu would know, because he fell victim to his attack in the first round. If anything, he still feels as though his mind is all muddled as he shifts away, avoiding the man’s attempt to get him cornered before he’s throwing a few quick punches himself. 

It doesn’t take long before Beomgyu is able to turn the match around, however. Chenle seems to be very poor in adapting to an opponent’s fighting style, and Beomgyu is quickly able to pull him into a chokehold that has him tapping out within seconds— without his hooks, Chenle was practically useless.

All this fighting had taken a toll on Beomgyu— he’s sure it showed as well, panting like a dog as the referee thrust his hand into the air, the commentators announcing him as the winner over the speakers: The Bear wins again. 

Beomgyu could see why you attempted to dissuade him from going to such a place as he takes in everyone’s reactions— the good, the bad, and the dangerous. From the corner of his eye, he can see Chenle stumbling back to his coach, the two clearly bitter and angry as they whisper plans to each other— Beomgyu shivers involuntarily as their glares land on him, his gut telling him that they’re up to no good as the referee finally lets go of his wrist, quick to exit the ring and get as far from them as possible. 

“Hey, we made it,” Taehyun grins, clapping Beomgyu on the shoulder as he laughs with joy— only to apologize as Beomgyu winces, his hand coming off in a second, “Our fight’s in thirty minutes, go rest and clean up— I don’t wanna have to go easy on you now.”

Absentmindedly, Beomgyu nods, ducking his head and making his way back to the locker room as he tries to ignore the stares of those around him— he can practically feel his body become alight with nerves by the time he’s back in the dark locker room, his heart pounding and his hands shaking as he begins to wonder if all your warnings have made him paranoid.  

It must be the adrenaline, he thinks to himself, undoing his hand wraps and wincing as he stretches his cramped muscles, yeah. adrenaline.  

He can’t help the way he groans as he makes his way to the bathroom area— all this fighting has taken a heavy toll on him, and he quickly finds that he’s already begun to sprout plenty of injuries and bruises as he finds his reflection in the mirror; his eyes remain downcast as he goes to wash his hands, sighing as the cool water splashes against his skin.

“I’m telling you, you were great!” Beomgyu can’t help but hear the conversation that begins to leak into the locker room, frowning at the way the second person begins to complain and yell angrily— the sound is enough to have Beomgyu on guard, straightening up slowly as he quickly turns the sink off. 

“No, I wasn’t great— I fucking lost!” He jumps at the sound of something striking hard against the lockers— Beomgyu can feel his stomach sink with dread as he realizes that it must be Chenle that walked in— he’s able to recognize his voice fairly quickly. 

“I know, I know— It’s odd, really, you weren’t supposed to have…” Beomgyu feels like he’s unable to breathe as the manager walks into sight, locking eyes with him through the reflection in an instant as he immediately stops talking; Chenle’s irritated what? Is enough to have Beomgyu snapping out of his daze, turning around as he watches the boy’s manager let out an exasperated laugh. 

“Hey,” Chenle begins, spotting Beomgyu as he quickly makes his way to him— Beomgyu remains silent, his eyes narrowed coldly as he tries to make a point that he’s not intimidated, “what the hell was that about back there?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Beomgyu mutters, watching as Chenle scoffs, turning away for a second to compose himself. 

“The match,” Chenle clarifies, enunciating each syllable as though Beomgyu were incapable of understanding, “you were supposed to throw it.” 

The words are definitely news to Beomgyu; he’s sure it shows on his face, because Chenle only seems to grow angrier by the second, Beomgyu’s silence only irritating him more as he runs a stressed hand through his hair. 

“Don’t act fuckin stupid,” Chenle spits out, pushing Beomgyu’s chest and taking him by surprise as he stumbles back into the sink, “We had our deal. Give me back the money I gave you.” 

“You have the wrong person,” Beomgyu says slowly, attempting to remain calm as he briefly looks over Chenle’s shoulder, and at the exit behind the two; he had two options: fight— which Chenle seemed more than ready to do— or stay out of trouble and run. The second option seemed very tempting at the moment. 

“I didn’t make any deal with you.” 

This seems enough to set Chenle off, more than ready to throw a punch before he’s interrupted by his manager; the man’s sharp Chenle is enough to have the two men looking back, over to where his manager leans against the wall, arms crossed as he stares at Beomgyu carefully. 

“You,” the man says carefully, nodding at Beomgyu as he raises a brow questioningly, “what’s your name?”

“Beomgyu,” he replies gruffly, watching as the manager only becomes more confused by his response. 

“Who sent you here?”

“Hey man, what’s the hold up, our fight started two minutes ago and people are already calling a forfeit—“ Taehyun pauses at the sight of the scene before him, taking a second to compose himself before he’s sending a cold glare to Chenle’s manager, “what’re you doing here?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” the man replies, pushing himself off the wall before he’s shoving his hands into his pants pockets, “now that I think about it, you two weren’t on the original roster we agreed to.”  

“The hell are you talking about?” It’s clear that the situation has begun to annoy Taehyun, who remains unphased as the manager begins to walk towards him, “We were invited to the tournament.” 

“Oh yeah? By who?” The man asks quietly, tilting his head as he waits expectantly for Taehyun to answer. 

“Choi Yeonjun,” Beomgyu says, the name foreign to Taehyun’s ears as he gauges the men’s reactions, the two of them watching Beomgyu with a scrutinizing gaze— what he sees does nothing to soothe his nerves. 

“Choi Yeonjun?” It seems as though that was not the answer either of them were looking for, the older man beginning to walk towards Taehyun, cornering him against the wall as Beomgyu attempts to step in— the warning glare Chenle sends him has him stilling for a second.

“That little rat sent you two? He still has the courage to try and involve himself here?” Something isn’t right— Beomgyu feels as though his body is on fire, buzzing with adrenaline as he watches the man’s tone drop dangerously— he’s reaching towards his jacket, the sight alarming as Beomgyu decides to divert his attention before it’s too late. 

His attempt to take down Chenle works fairly easy— at least, that’s what Beomgyu thinks initially, able to take Chenle by surprise with a punch to the face before the boy is recovering; he’s more than ready to take back any of Chenle’s hits, only that’s not what the younger man seems to have in mind as he reaches into his jacket pocket instead.

Beomgyu isn’t given much time to react before Chenle is tackling him into the wall, his head banging harshly against it before he feels himself grow paralyzed with shock and pain— the knife Chenle drives into Beomgyu’s stomach is quickly plunged out, the younger man’s manager pulling him back with a scolding tsk and a harsh pull of his collar. 

“Shit,” he can hear Taehyun exclaim, running to Beomgyu’s side in an instant as he attempts to add pressure to the wound; Beomgyu is still in shock as he groans at the feeling, a shuddering breath escaping him as he watches his blood run down his skin and stain his shorts. 

“Chenle, let’s go,” the manager hisses, tugging Chenle along and hiding the weapon before either Beomgyu or Taehyun are able to process it.

Beomgyu feels as though he’s swimming underwater with how disoriented he feels, the quiet apologies Taehyun lets out over and over falling onto deaf ears as the noise outside only grows louder. 

“We need to take you to the hospital man, shit,” Taehyun says, doing his best to carry Beomgyu with him as they make their way out— he knows better than to try and trust anyone in this place to treat him. 

“What’s this?” Taehyun is already rolling his eyes at the sight of a new person blocking their path, more than ready to curse them out and push them out of the way before he realizes who it is; Choi Minho, the club owner, simply smiles down at them, inspecting the two men before him before his cold gaze stops upon Beomgyu. 

“Playing dirty already?” His lack of urgency has Taehyun’s stomach churning with dread, wondering what the fuck he’s gotten himself into as the owner of the club only stops to laugh at his own joke.

Taehyun’s guilt and fear for his friend seems to cloud his reasoning; without another thought, he’s pushing past Minho, trying to find his way over to the exit before he quickly realizes that he’s managed to bring all the attention to him. 

The crowd goes wild at the sight of Beomgyu’s injury; they’re crowding around the three, attempting to instigate a fight and bet money as their eyes light up with bloodlust— the sight has Taehyun shivering as he stumbles forward in uncertainty, avoiding a woman that attempts to grab out to Beomgyu in the process. 

The sight was terrifying; Minho could only watch in satisfaction behind them, crossing his arms in amusement as he watched Taehyun try to push through the packed crowds of people; his hold on Beomgyu was slipping, and he’s sure he’s left a trail of blood by now as his ears begin to ache, trying his best to ignore the catcalls and insults that are thrown at him; both to try and instigate and annoy him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Minho calls after them, following behind as people almost seem to clear a path for him; in turn, the people on the other end seem to grow bolder, blocking his path and eager to witness conflict as Taehyun begins to yell at them to move.

“We still need to discuss your connections to this place,” Minho says, his eyes darkening as he meets Taehyun’s heated gaze, “Choi Yeonjun, was it?”

It’s no use; the crowd is getting handsy, pushing Taehyun back towards Minho in order to see the drama unfold. Beomgyu can only cling tighter to Taehyun, groaning in pain as the adrenaline slowly begins to wear off. 

Choi Yeonjun, what the fuck did you do, Taehyun is practically ready to spit in Minho’s face from the anger that courses through him, but the fear that Beomgyu may bleed out on him keeps his senses on high alert as he tries to formulate a plan to escape. 

His chance to escape comes in the form of five gunshots that boom through the room— each causing more panic than the last, the people around him bigger cowards than they let on as they immediately fall to the floor or scramble for cover. 

Taehyun is startled but remains alert, his head whipping around and meeting the eyes of someone who was more than used to coming to unorthodox places to wrangle Beomgyu out of danger. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you angrier as you point a gun towards the ceiling, your jaw clenched and your face confronted into a nasty glare as rubble falls around you. 

“Get down,” you seethe, sweeping your gun through the area as you watch everyone cower at the sight, eyes pointed at those who try to get back up to escape, “I said get the fuck down!” 

The place seems to grow still the moment you put your finger back on the trigger, the startled yelps of those hiding the only thing that you can hear as you begin to walk forward; your gaze only darkens more at the sight of Beomgyu slumped in Taehyun’s arms. 

“___, so nice to see you back here,” Minho smiles, attempting to charm you with an innocent tilt of his head, “What brings you to this place?”

“Let them go, Minho,” you warn, raising your gun towards him as he simply puts his hands up in surrender— yet, the mischievous smile and his unphased body language tell you otherwise.

“And why should I?” He asks carefully, eyes flickering over to where Beomgyu barely remains standing, Taehyun attempting to put all his strength into stopping the blood flow of his wound, “They wronged me, and I simply want answers.” 

“Bullshit,” you spit out, jerking your arm as you bring your gun to aim at his head instead, “I have Agust and his men outside. Let them go if you know what’s good for you.” 

The sudden name seems to be enough for Minho to falter, his smile wavering for a second before he’s letting out a deep sigh; rolling his eyes, he takes a moment to think before he’s looking over to Taehyun and Beomgyu. 

“Go.” 

Taehyun doesn’t need to be told twice; he’s making his way over to you without hesitation, struggling to step over the cowering bodies as Beomgyu clings to him like a ragdoll— you’re immediately pulling the two behind you before you’re jerking your head back to the exit, walking backwards as you keep your gun aimed at Minho in warning. 

“You’ll be back soon,” Minho grins, his eyes alight with something mischievous and dangerous as he lets his arms down slowly, “just you wait.”

Your free hand reaches for the heavy metal door, your eyes narrowing at his words as he waits for you to say something; in response, you spit at him, slamming the door behind you before you’re ushering Taehyun to hurry up.

“I fucking told you, I can’t fucking believe this,” you mutter under your breath, shoving the gun in your back pocket before you’re taking Beomgyu from Taehyun, slinging his arm over your shoulder as you spot Taehyun staggering behind in exhaustion. 

“Hurry up before I leave your ass here!” You yell, now at the top of the stairs as you meet eyes with the one person you now owed your life to. 

“Shit, you really weren’t messing around,” Yoongi says, his eyes widening as he takes sight of the unconscious man you carry with you. With a snap, his men take him from your arms, carrying him over to the backseat of Yoongi’s car before he’s gesturing for you to get in, Taehyun following close behind.

“We need to get him to the hospital, now,” you stress, unsure of how much Beomgyu was bleeding out before you got there; from his pale sweaty skin and slow, shuddering breaths, you know it’s best to act fast and ask questions later. 

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” is all Yoongi says, gesturing towards his men as they all begin to scatter, more than ready to speed off into the streets as he yells at Taehyun to put pressure on Beomgyu’s wound.

Pressed against the seat, you can’t ignore the way your head aches and your eyes sting with the threat of tears, unsure of what you’ll tell Beomgyu’s mother the moment he gets checked in the hospital. 

Silently, you reach over to Yoongi, grabbing his hand as you let out a soft thank you. In turn, he squeezes your hand in reassurance, his foot pressing down on the gas pedal as he takes in the anxiety that rolls off you in waves. 

⊹⊹⊹

The hospital is cold and unwelcoming. 

You’re in the waiting room, unable to stop yourself from pacing as Yoongi remains by your side; Taehyun lingers nearby, his gaze downcast and glued to the floor from the moment Beomgyu was taken away by paramedics. 

Your fingers dig into your arms as you sigh for the upteenth time; your gaze falls on Taehyun, your jaw clenching as you take him in— his head is downcast and he remains hunched over in his seat, his elbows propped on his knees as he hangs his head. But even from there, your eyes are able to look over the way his clothes are drenched with blood, his knuckles turning white as he clasps his hands together tightly. 

“Excuse me, are you Choi Beomgyu’s guardian?” The three of you are quick to turn at the meek nurse that approaches you, her hands folded politely as you take initiative to step towards her; nodding, you watch as she sighs, her face unreadable under the medical mask she wears. 

“I’m sorry to inform you that Choi Beomgyu’s wound was quite severe, and he lost a significant amount of blood.” You can feel Yoongi grasp at your arm as you exhale slowly, feeling yourself become unstable as your mouth falls open in disbelief, “We were able to stop the bleeding, but we’ve noticed that his wound has shown signs of infection; due to this, his condition is still critical— He is currently in the intensive care unit, and we are doing everything we can to stabilize him; Unfortunately, only immediate family can visit at this time.”

She lingers for a moment as she waits for you to say something, but you’re only able to muster enough energy to nod politely, ripping your arm out of Yoongi’s grasp before you’re stumbling outside— the said man is hot on your trail as he keeps a close eye on you, his quiet presence enough reassurance that he’s there if you need him. 

Your hands are shaking horribly as you shove them in your pockets; your head hurts, and you feel sick to your stomach as you lean against the hospital walls, your head banging softly against the concrete wall as your pockets fish for something to distract you; Yoongi is quick to guess as he reaches into his own jacket, pulling out a cigarette and placing it in between your lips before he’s lighting it for you. 

“He’ll be okay,” Yoongi reassures you, watching with narrowed eyes as you take a slow drag from the cigarette, “he’s a strong kid— in good hands, too.”

“I know he’ll be okay,” you grit out, sighing softly as you watch the smoke escape from your lips and disappear into the night sky, “he has to be.”

Your worries don’t lie entirely on his health; his recovery will be slow and tedious, but you’ll do anything if it ensures Beomgyu’s safety— the problem, however, lies on how much it’ll cost to ensure his recovery. 

With the treatments and antibiotics the doctors were currently giving Beomgyu, you’re sure Ms. Choi would break down at the sight of the bill; running a restaurant on her own can only do so much, and you’re sure as hell not blind to the reasons as to why Beomgyu took up fighting in the first place, witness to the way he would leave his prize money before her in hopes that it would take care of the monthly bills. 

A prize from the tournament at FightX would’ve been enough to have Ms. Choi closing the restaurant for a while and going on vacation— Beomgyu’s motivations slowly start clicking together in your head as you scoff, taking another drag from the cigarette in your hand as you feel the way your head begins to ache; the last thing you’ll do is have Ms. Choi worry about the bills.

“His mother,” Yoongi starts softly, interrupting your thoughts as he practically reads your mind, “are you gonna tell her?”

You take a moment before you answer, watching as Yoongi leans against the wall next to you patiently; flicking the ashes off your cigarette, you bite your lip, frowning in frustration as you sigh slowly. 

“I have to,” you say, your mind already wracking for ways you could deliver the news to his mother, “she’s already worried enough as it is.”

Pulling your phone out, you turn it on to show Yoongi your screen; an onslaught of missed calls and text messages greet you, all from Beomgyu’s mother as you wince at the escalation of the contents— all of them asking if you’re alright, if you know where Beomgyu might have run off to. 

“She’s already onto me,” you laugh softly, though it feels more forced than anything as you watch your screen light up again, her contact name taking over the screen as you take a second to look at it; with one last drag from your cigarette, you exhale, accepting the call as you drop the item and grind it into the ground, wincing slightly as Ms. Choi’s alarmed voice fills your ears. 

“Yes Ms. Choi, I’ve found him.” You look beyond exhausted as Taehyun watches from afar, only able to hear your soft voice as you continue to reassure his mother— the guilt that was plaguing Taehyun’s mind only comes back stronger as he watches you deliver the awaited news tensely, the words awkward in your mouth as you visibly flinch— only to quickly tell Beomgyu’s mother that he’s safe and there’s nothing to worry about. 

“We’re still here. I’ll wait for you, don’t worry.” Your voice is soft and calming as you speak, a stark contrast to what Taehyun saw earlier— he shivers at the thought, eyes widening slightly as they meet yours— stiffening, he can’t help how tense he feels as you gesture for him to come to him. 

It’s silent as Taehyun walks to you; tucking your phone into your back pocket, your eyes narrow at the sight of Taehyun walking towards you, as though his tail were tucked in between his legs as he refuses to meet your gaze. The sight is enough to have you angered again as you cross your arms, pushing yourself off the wall as you dig your fingers into your biceps, teeth gritting as you attempt to keep your voice steady as you speak. 

“What the hell happened back there? How did this all start?” You ask, your gaze intense as Taehyun forces himself to meet it; you look beyond furious as you wait for him to respond, Yoongi surveying carefully over your shoulder, the sight oddly intimidating as Taehyun begins to recount everything that happened. 

“The match was rigged— you weren’t even supposed to be there,” you conclude, looking over your shoulder to see Yoongi agreeing, “who was invited there?” 

“It was me,” Taehyun says, not an ounce of hesitation in his answer as he watches your eyes widen at the news, “It was all my idea, I thought it’d give us a bigger chance to win the prize money— I… I was the one who got the invite.”

Taehyun isn’t entirely sure as to why he just took all the blame for Beomgyu; maybe it was his guilty conscience, or the way that he knew if he told the truth, Beomgyu would be in more trouble than he already was— yet a small part of him seems to regret it as he watches the way your eyes widen, unable to stop yourself as Taehyun’s head jerks to the side— his cheek stings at the impact of your palm, but he doesn’t find himself to be angered by it as he remains silent. 

“This— this is all your fault?” You say, incredulous as you begin to pace again— whether it’s to hold yourself back from hitting Taehyun again or to process everything, he isn’t sure— “Do you have any idea the shit you just got us involved in?”

From the way Taehyun stares at you, his brows furrowed in concern, it’s clear the answer is no.

“Do you know how much it’ll cost for Beomgyu’s treatment? He could’ve fucking died!” The fact that Beomgyu still stepped foot in the underground club despite knowing the dangers of it isn’t lost on you— if anything, it angers you more, feeling as though he took everything you told him and went through as a joke, teeth gritting together at the thought of it, “his mother can’t afford something like this, do you realize how terrified she is to hear her son is in the ICU?”

“The money from the tournament,” Taehyun interrupts, watching the way you pause in your steps before he continues, “we can just use that— it’s more than enough.”

You remain silent— all you can do is stare at Taehyun for a second, eyes narrowing at him before you shake your head; bitterly, you smile, tilting your head as you cross your arms defensively once more. 

“Did you finish the tournament?” You ask, watching as Taehyun slowly shakes his head, “did you win?”

“No— it was just me and Beomgyu left anyway—”

“Did you win?” You repeat, your voice much more stern as you take a step closer to Taehyun; he can feel his heart sinking as he takes in your close proximity, your expression serious as he feels the realization dawn on him as well, “did you stay in the cage, did you hear them announce you as the winner?”

You both know the answer to your question; Taehyun’s voice is barely above a whisper as he speaks. 

“No.”

“No,” you echo, hands falling to your sides, the burst of emotions from earlier taking a toll on you and leaving your voice quiet and tired as you continue, “They might as well call it a forfeit from your part.”

“The prize money is still their’s, and they’ll even hold another tournament while they’re at it.”

Backing away, you glance at Yoongi before gesturing for him to give you another cigarette; the lighter is the only thing that illuminates your face for a second, your eyes tired and angry as they flicker back up to meet Taehyun’s.

“Unless you want to go back and win it, you’re no use here.”

You refuse to talk to Taehyun any further as you turn your back to him; the smoke that escapes from your figure is oddly soothing as Taehyun lingers by your side, lost in thought as he leans against the wall; feeling a set of eyes searing into his skin, he looks up, meeting Yoongi’s curious gaze, watching as he tilts his head before he finally speaks to the younger man. 

“Who sent you that invitation?” Yoongi asks, burying his hands into his jacket pockets as he watches Taehyun intently— the said man pauses, mind thinking back to the name Beomgyu mentioned before he’s uttering it quietly, unsure of himself as he avoids Yoongi’s gaze. 

“Choi Yeonjun.” Taehyun is surprised to find both of you reacting, watching as your shoulders shake with quiet laughter, head turning to Yoongi who simply sends you a knowing look; the two of you shake your heads in dismay, leaving Taehyun to wonder if he said the wrong name as he watches Yoongi let out a deep sigh. 

“That explains it,” Yoongi mutters, taking the cigarette from your hands before he’s taking a drag of it himself; he’s blowing the smoke out to the side before he finally decides to give Taehyun more context, the sight of the man staring at him bringing him amusement as his lips twinge into a small smile. 

“You and Yeonjun, were you guys close?” Taehyun slowly shakes his head at the question, making Yoongi scoff— he wonders why the older man seems to be making such a big deal about this person, but the heavy feeling in his gut tells him it’s nothing good, “Makes sense— thought you had a death wish or something.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Taehyun asks, tired of being left out in the dark from the way Yoongi refuses to give proper context; he can’t help the way he straightens slightly as you turn back around to face him, your gaze still full of anger as you glare at Taehyun. 

“That invitation was a setup,” you begin, brow raising at the way Taehyun’s mouth falls open in surprise, “Choi Yeonjun was exposed as a rat years ago; he was working with police to try and get the club shutdown, greedy for money— didn’t exactly end well for him.” 

It all seems to make sense now; the hostility whenever either boys mentioned the man, the danger it wound them up in— Taehyun tries to keep a straight face at the news, but it’s difficult to do as you grow quiet, surveying Taehyun carefully as you take a step closer to him; then another, and another until you’re eerily close to him, attempting to analyze everything about him before you’re tutting softly. 

“But why he would send an invite to you, I have no idea— let alone how he got a spot in the bracket— what’d he tell you, anyway?” your questions are enough to have Taehyun gulping softly; hell, how was he supposed to know any of this? Yet, as far as you were concerned, Taehyun was the only one who was in contact with the man. 

“Nothing much,” Taehyun replies, hoping you can’t see through his lies as he stares straight into your eyes, “it came in the mail— just told me he secured two spots.” 

“Think about it,” Yoongi says, diverting your attention away from Taehyun for a second— he can feel himself relax slightly, free from your intense gaze as you turn to look at your friend, “Why else would he try to get involved with FightX again? And through other fighters, on top of that.”

“He might be trying to get back in the scene,”  you say, seemingly coming to a conclusion before Taehyun can as your face lightens up; first, with confusion, then with amusement as a smile tugs at your lips. Turning back to Taehyun, you can’t help but laugh slightly in disbelief, “The prize money probably wasn’t going to be yours to begin with.”

Still a rat, hmm, you mutter, the smile on your face contradictory to the way you bite your lip in irritation; the laugh you let out isn’t very convincing either, and Yoongi can only roll his eyes at your antics as he’s leaning against the wall once more, taking a slow drag from the cigarette in his hand before he’s flicking off the ash absentmindedly. 

“How do you know all this?” Taehyun asks, the question hitting him suddenly as he takes a good look at the people before him; a restaurant worker and a man who seemed to be involved in shadier things than he let on— his curiosity laid more on you, taking in the way you seemed unphased by his question, “who are you guys?” 

That’s enough for you and Yoongi to share a bewildered look; it takes a second before you’re both laughing, amused at his words as you allow Yoongi to answer.

“Kid, you’re looking at the two old champions of FightX,” Yoongi smiles, eyes creasing as Taehyun takes notice of the scar that runs through one of them, “We’re the only fucking reason that club survived for so long.” 

Taehyun’s look of bewilderment is the only thing to have you cracking a genuine smile; rolling your eyes, you huff as his eyes land on you, observing you for a moment before he frowns in confusion.

“You’re a fighter?” Taehyun asks, watching as the two of you nod without hesitation, “Makes sense.” 

“Alright you little prick,” you seethe, eye twitching at his witty comment, “I know you have a smart fucking mouth, but I still can’t get used to it.” 

You feel as though you might show Taehyun some of your moves when he simply cracks an innocent smile at you— only to stop, the sound of hurried steps and the loud yell of your name making the three of you turn towards the sound. 

Ah, you hear Yoongi mumble behind you, dropping his cigarette and snuffing it out before Ms. Choi can pick up on it; the tense smiles the two of you sport quickly has Taehyun doing the same, shuffling back until he’s covered behind Yoongi— from the corner of your eye, you see the younger man cross his arms awkwardly, attempting to cover his blood-soaked clothes as he keeps his head ducked down. 

Ms. Choi is a wreck; you’re able to pick up on it easily, the light that leaks out from within highlighting her features that are soaked with worry and stress; her face is pulled into a frown and her eyes threaten to leak with tears as she stumbles to a stop before you. 

Her expression is unreadable; you’re unsure of how she might react or what she might do, but you wouldn’t blame her if she lashed out any of her anger on you— jolting, you’re taken aback by the way she practically leaps on you, arms caging you in a bone crushing hug as she buries her head into your shoulder— the sounds of her sniffles are enough to have you snapping out of your frozen state, arms coming up to hold the woman tightly in return. 

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she mutters, her hands gripping onto your clothes at the reminder, “I’m so glad he’s alive.”

“He’s safe, Ms. Choi. He’s okay, he’ll recover in no time,” your reassurance is soft and endless as you pat her back, allowing her to cry freely into your arms as you give her a moment to recollect herself— sniffing, she pulls away, wiping at her eyes before her gaze falls on Yoongi. 

“Ma’am,” Yoongi nods, his face tense as he awaits for her to say something; his face mirrors your own as he’s pulled into a hug, eyes widening and posture stiffening before he slowly returns the gesture.

“Thank you for bringing my son back to me,” she says, pulling away before she reaches up to cup Yoongi’s face; she takes him in, smiling tenderly as she adds, “I’m happy to see you’ve been well.”

Yoongi smiles at her comment; he’s surprised to see that she still remembers him, times spent visiting you at work and pestering you coming to mind as he lets out a soft laugh. 

“They said only immediate family is allowed to visit at this time,” you mutter softly, taking her attention as she turns to face you, “We’ll wait out here for you.”

Taking your hands, she nods; you can see how apologetic she is as she takes a moment to smile reassuringly, telling you that she’ll let you know how he’s doing before she disappears inside— watching her figure retreat, you can’t help but frown after a moment, wondering if she’ll be alright on her own. 

“Fuck,” you sigh, the reality of it all hitting you again as you tilt your head back defeatedly; staring at the night sky, you bury your hands into your pockets, fighting the emotions that threaten to spill over as you speak, “How the fuck am I supposed to handle all this now.” 

“We’ll figure it out,” Yoongi says, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder as he becomes quick to reassure you, “I can help you out, I know some people.”

“No Yoongi,” you quickly say, shrugging off his shoulder as you send him a stern look, “I don’t want you to get involved in any shady stuff over this— I got this, you don’t need to worry.” 

Your argument continues to go back and forth for a while— Taehyun feels insanely awkward as he’s forced to watch, unsure of what to do as he wonders if it’s just best to sneak away and go back inside— after what seems like ten minutes, he realizes he’s had enough as he goes to butt in. 

“Let’s just win that stupid thing back,” Taehyun blurts out, stopping the both of you in your tracks as you slowly turn to look at him, “you said they’d probably hold another tournament, no? We’ll just win it back through there.”

“Are you—?” you cut yourself off as you place a hand over your mouth, running it down in frustration before you’re starting again, “You were invited to that place by Choi Yeonjun, a fucking rat. You really think they’d just let you waltz back in and join?”

“Minho—” Taehyun says, pausing for a moment as he frowns, thinking back to what the owner of the place said, “You’ll be back soon. That’s what he said, no?”

“He wants us to come back,” Yoongi realizes, glancing at you as he watches the way your jaw clenches in annoyance, “He knew we’d be back for that damn prize.”

“And what better way to draw in gamblers than with a match after tonight’s show,” you continue, your mind racing with ideas before you’re finally looking back at Taehyun, “But what, how are we supposed to arrange something like this? You seriously think we can just walk in and have a civilized conversation?” 

⊹⊹⊹

“Are you fucking insane?” 

Taehyun’s hushed scolding is enough to have you rolling your eyes, unphased by his reaction as you tug your shirt over your jeans more; shrugging your jacket on, you nod back at Yoongi, who only returns the gesture after he’s zipped his own coat up; you can barely feel the gun that’s tucked into your waistband, but Taehyun is determined to not allow you to forget about it as his eyes fall onto it’s hiding spot every three seconds. 

“It’s rude to stare,” you mumble, slapping Taehyun’s shoulder and forcing him to turn back around; you allow Yoongi to lead the way through the busy streets, the bright alleyways and busy shops entirely inconspicuous as you make your way to a familiar store, entirely empty except for the owner that attends it. 

There are no customers when you enter; The store is packed with products and is poorly lit, and it’s oddly quiet as you walk around; making your way around the aisles swiftly, it almost feels like muscle memory before you’re stopping at the checkout— narrowing your eyes, you’re not surprised to find Minho sitting on a stool behind the register, not bothering to look up from the book he reads as he adjusts his thin wired glasses slightly— leaning on the counter, you clear your throat, raising a brow as you tap your fingers rhythmically on the surface. 

“A win is only official after it is announced by the referee; if both fighters fail to present themselves in the ring, the match is invalid.” Minho doesn’t bother to look up from his book as he speaks; carefully, he reaches to fold the page he’s on, pressing his fingers on the dog-ear meticulously before he’s shutting the book gingerly; placing it on the counter, he finally looks up, smiling sweetly as he does so. 

“But you already know that, don’t you?”

“You’re holding another tournament, aren’t you,” you say, the words coming out as a statement rather than a question.

“Perhaps.”

“We want in,” you can see the way Minho processes your words, his eyes scanning from you to Yoongi before his smile is growing a bit wider; catching onto his thought process, you’re quick to shake your head, reaching behind you and pulling Taehyun roughly as you ignore the way he stumbles forward.

“I mean him. Just him.”

Minho’s smile wavers a little— you can practically see the dollar signs in his eyes decrease slightly, but his expression is still amused as he quickly recalls who the fighter in front of him is; narrowing his eyes, Minho hums, oddly docile as he looks back at you.

“Fine,” to say that it’s unnerving to watch Minho agree so easily is an understatement; you’re sharing a confused look with Yoongi as you watch the way Minho stands from his seat, rounding the counter before he begins to walk away— glancing back at you, he nods to the exit, telling you to follow him before he continues walking. 

Before you can think too hard on it, you’re tugging the two men along; anything to make sure he doesn’t disappear from your sight, you think, but you can’t help but pat yourself down slightly in search of your gun the moment you see where you’re headed. 

“Relax, it’s empty right now,” Minho hums, swinging the door wide open and allowing you to see, smiling in amusement as he takes in the way you remain a few steps back, “I’ve decided that a tournament is just too simple.”

“After the glorious show you put on last night, I knew my patrons would love to see more of your people,” Minho continues, a satisfied look flashing through his features as the three of you finally make your way to his level, peeking through the door cautiously, “and what better way than to skip the bracket and give the public what they want?” 

There’s a single person inside; you’re on guard as you watch them, the dull lights of the place barely allowing you to see them as you squint your eyes; He’s practicing, you realize, watching as he uses the punch bag before him diligently, his sounds of effort reaching you as he continues. 

“One v. One match,” Minho smiles, glancing into the door to see what the man inside is up to; the four of you watch as he does a spin kick, the force from it sending the punching bag flying to the side, the sound of the impact echoing throughout the empty area as you wince at the sight.

The man lets out a huff of exhaustion after; he’s backing up, shaking his body as he steps into the light that emits from a window behind him— pushing his hair back, you’re able to take in his features, your eyes widening as you realize who it is that currently stands before you. 

“Your fighter versus mine— The Cobra.”

The Cobra— otherwise known as Park Jongseong— or rather, Minho’s last apprentice before you left.

“The best of the best, no?” Minho continues, his gaze meeting your own as he smiles knowingly, “you win this, you win everything— no questions asked, no… attacks, on my part.”

You can already hear Yoongi’s thoughts behind you; this is dangerous, this is a horrible, insane idea. 

And you agree— you agree wholeheartedly, hesitating to respond as you take another moment to observe The Cobra— yet it seems as though you’ve taken too long, lost deep in your own thoughts as you fail to account for another, stupid variable. 

“Deal,” Taehyun butts in, leaving you speechless as you’re forced to watch the way he shakes Minho’s hand casually; the older man can only laugh at the action, grinning from ear to ear as his eyes meet yours— his smile only widens more as he takes in your baffled expression.

You find yourself speechless— even when you go back up to discuss the rules and terms of the fight, speechless when Yoongi reluctantly agrees, and speechless when you walk out of the inconspicuous store, your hands clutching tightly onto the paper given to you with the specific details of the match. 

You’re only able to muster up the courage to look at Taehyun once you’ve gotten back in the car safely; he meets your gaze after a moment, brows furrowing as he finds himself annoyed with your dumbstruck expression. 

“What the hell do you want?” 

This stupid boy has no idea what he just got himself into.

⊹⊹⊹

“Three weeks,” you say, pacing back and forth as you find yourself in the last place you would ever want to be; Seokjin’s small fight club is no match to the basement of FightX, but it’s enough for you to train in as you choose to look past the dimly lit area, the natural light that leaks in from the small windows above the only thing that allows you to see properly— Taehyun watches you impatiently, stretching his muscles as he stands by the training equipment in attention, wanting nothing more than to get started already. 

“For the next three weeks, you’ll throw away any plans you’ve made— I expect to see you here everyday for training.”

”Wait, you’re training me?” Taehyun interjects, watching the way you narrow your eyes at him in warning— he looks back to where Yoongi sits, slumped over in his chair as he smiles lazily the moment their eyes meet— then he looks back at you, biting his lip before he continues, “Why not him?”

“Because you want to get trained by the best, no?” Yoongi calls out, already able to see the way you bristle at Taehyun’s comment; the said boy nods, lips pressed together as he takes a moment to observe you again, “Then she’ll be training you. Now watch your mouth before you sweet trainer here decides enough is enough.”

“But the restaurant,” Taehyun backtracks, realizing how his comment may have come off as he speaks, “Won’t you be busy?” 

“Winning that tournament is more important,” you say, not missing a beat as you begin to stretch, “Especially since you agreed to fight The Cobra, of all people.”

“Seriously, why is that a big deal?” Taehyun huffs, rolling his eyes as you signal for him to continue stretching, “the dude can’t be that dangerous.”

“That dude has been in the ring for years,” Yoongi says, catching Taehyun’s attention as he pauses in his movements, “Much longer than you, to be sure.”

“Meaning,” you continue, sighing in dismay at the thought of your next words, “He’s been trained by Minho himself.”

“And us.” 

The sudden revelation is enough to have Taehyun tensing; stomach sinking, he seems to realize why you were so hesitant to agree to this arrangement. 

“Anything we teach you, Park Jongseong has already mastered,” you say, putting on focus mitts before you gesture for Taehyun to come closer, “That’s where you come in— I’ve been praying that you’d be a decent fighter, hoping you’d have some skills of your own we could hone in on.”

Taehyun frowns at your words— you aren’t exactly the most encouraging person he’s met, and he can even feel his confidence dwindling as he stands before you, pausing as he watches you put up your mitted hands— a moment passes and you’re rolling your eyes, scoffing at the way Taehyun seems to be hesitant before you. 

“What are you waiting for?” you scold, your tough voice enough for the man to snap out of his daze; his expression is unreadable as you watch a shift in his form, his hesitation quickly being wiped off as he takes a step toward you— his stance is shifting, and you watch with delight as his eyes turn dangerous, honing in on your mitts as he brings his fists up. 

Let’s see what you got. 

⊹⊹⊹ 

“Again.” 

For once, Taehyun begins to realize the consequences of his actions. 

His body is on fire; he feels as though all his strength has escaped him, pushing his hair back for the upteenth time as he winces at the sweat that coats it— you remain unphased, and Taehyun wonders for a second if you have unlimited stamina as you raise your brow at him expectantly. 

His body has yet to become accustomed to this new schedule. He’s gotten used to seeing you every day, reviewing techniques and giving him pointers before you’re giving him a thorough workout; tonight, you’ve decided to focus on his kicks, bringing up many different fighting styles and forcing him to practice on the punching bag that hangs in a nearby corner. 

“Come on, can’t we just take a break? I’ve been at this for—“

“I said again,” you interrupt, glaring at the way Taehyun sends you an irritated look; Taehyun has grown used to your intimidation tactics after spending more time with you than should be considered normal, your once terrifying anger nothing more than something Taehyun has to put up with as he sighs— he still knows better than to go against you, though.

And so, he does exactly what you taught him— though it’s sloppy, and he knows he’ll get an earful as he executes the kick weakly— though, he personally blames your refusal to give him a proper break for his actions.  

“Have you not been paying attention to anything I’ve been saying?” you ask, exasperated as you make your way to him; standing next to him, you gesture for him to step aside, getting in front of the punching bag yourself before you’re getting into the proper stance. 

“I need you to remember to swing your hips; like this,” stepping forward with your right foot, you extend your left leg slowly, twisting your hips along with the motion as you freeze, gesturing to your hips, “If you don’t, your kick won’t be as powerful; you need to put your whole body into it, not just your leg.”

Stepping back, you demonstrate again, pushing through the rest of the kick as you listen to the thud that echoes from your move— Taehyun can’t help the way his eyes widen as he watches the punching bag swing back and forth, analyzing your form before another thought is popping into his head. 

“That kick,” Taehyun mumbles, switching spots with you as he begins to envision what you just did, trying to get his body to recreate it before he pauses, “Beomgyu did that— he used that move all the time.” 

“Yeah? Glad he finally got it right,” you sigh, unfazed by his words as you cross your arms, smiling in amusement— Taehyun turns to look at you, frowning in confusion as you practically read his mind, “Hey, if I can’t stop that idiot from sneaking off to this place, I might as well make sure he doesn’t die.”

The laugh you let out after is tense and bittersweet; Beomgyu was doing much better now, but he remained in the hospital due to complications from the infection of his wound— you were given the news that he would most likely need physical therapy as well, the sound of it only motivating you to work harder after you watched the way Ms. Choi paled with the news. 

“He almost knocked you out with it? Holy shit,” you laugh, incredulous as Taehyun tells you the details of his first encounter with the boy— the proud smile that spreads across your face catches Taehyun off guard, your eyes twinkling with delight as you gesture back to the punching bag. “Don’t you wanna get as good as him? Come on, show me you’re not all talk.”

The sudden comparison to Beomgyu has Taehyun bristling with annoyance, rolling his eyes as he reluctantly follows your words— a strange, nagging feeling manifests within his mind, telling him to prove himself and dispel all your worries about him as a fighter— it motivates him, taking a deep breath before he’s getting into the proper stance; closing his eyes, he envisions his body following the same movement path you did, eyes zeroing in on the punching bag before him as he finally executes the kick. 

“There we go,” you hiss, an excited grin spreading on your face as you listen to the impact of Taehyun’s kick— though it’s too early for the said man to celebrate, his eyes lighting up for a second before you’re back to pester him for pointers. 

“You need to stay light on your feet,” you remind him, rolling your eyes at the way he tries to interfere with your comment, telling you that it’s because I’m exhausted, “Do you think Jongseong will care if you’re tired? You think he’s gonna go easy on you if you start bitching at him the way you are now?”

“There’s no need for you to be such a bitch, either,” Taehyun sneers, getting back into stance as he watches the way you remain unfazed by his comment. 

“Maybe I’ll start being nice once you prove to be useful.” you mutter, and Taehyun swears the anger that courses through him fuels his kick as he feels his body twisting with energy— so much energy that he’s losing his footing, the impact that booms from his move much louder than his previous attempts as he stumbles back— from the corner of his eyes, he sees the way your eyes widen slightly at the sight.

“Not bad,” you say, tilting your head as you study Taehyun for a second; he’s exhausted and soaked with sweat, his eyes filled with pure anger and frustration you might just think he’ll fight you instead— the thought is enough to have you stifling a laugh, your lips twitching slightly before you’re snapping back to reality. 

“You need to practice your balance if you’re gonna use your body like that,” humming softly, you think for a second, brows furrowing as you continue, “if anything, you should try some spinning hook kicks— that could improve your balance great—”

“You’re here again?” the voice that yells out from the entrance has you startled for a second, turning around before you’re groaning in frustration; you’re leaving Taehyun’s side immediately as you go to the source of the sound— Seokjin seems to be just as annoyed as you are, turning on the rest of the lights with an irritated look on his face. 

“You know why we’re here, Seokjin,” you say, yet the reminder of your reasoning doesn’t seem to be enough for the man, watching as he shakes his head in disapproval. 

“You know I have a club to run, right?” it’s clear you’ve given up as you mutter a yeah yeah, softly, pouting like a child to the older man, “I can’t have this place running while you’re training that poor kid to death.”

“My regimen has results.” you say defensively, glaring at Seokjin, who simply puts up his hands in defeat, unphased by your attitude as he glances back at Taehyun.

“He looks like he’s about to pass out.” 

Following Seokjin’s line of sight, you find yourself wincing; it seems that you’ve only now gotten a good look at the man, watching the way he’s already slumped down at the bench nearby, his chest heaving with shallow breaths and his eyes fluttering as he holds onto his water bottle tightly— frowning, you listen to the way Seokjin quietly asks you how long have you been in here today? your mind going back to the hours you’ve spent cooped inside this building— not to mention day after day. 

“Go back to opening this place,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at the way Seokjin smiles triumphantly— the guilt you feel is odd as you approach Taehyun, standing by awkwardly as you watch the way he doesn’t even acknowledge you, much too tired to even open his eyes. 

“Hey. Don’t pass out on me,” you say, slapping Taehyun’s bicep and watching as he startles awake— his eyes meet yours, wincing at the sudden increase of light as he squints up at you.

“We’re done for today. Let’s go,” you mutter, unsure of what else to do as you give Taehyun a helping hand; he observes it for a moment, oddly skeptical before he finally takes it— his skin is surprisingly soft for having the hands of a fighter, though you try not to let it show on your face as you help him up; the groan of exertion he lets out isn’t lost on you, and you’re surprised to find yourself feeling bad for doing this to him. 

A pitch black night greets you the moment you’re exiting the building, yelling one last goodbye to Seokjin before you’re closing the door behind you— you can hear Taehyun softly grumble about having to climb way too many stairs, and you can only let out a huff in amusement before you’re linking an arm with him for support.

“Come on tiger, don’t let a set of stairs knock you out,” you mock, ignoring his angered rebuttals that he can barely slur out— you’ve really done a number on him today, you realize, the witty man beside you reduced to nothing more than a slumped figure as he continues to complain under his breath, leaving you unfazed the moment he tries to complain about your routines again. 

“Don’t make me regret what I’m about to do for you,” is all you say in response, leading him to your car as you ignore his protests that he just wants to go home, “It’s been hours since you’ve eaten— come on, let’s go see Beomgyu, I bet he’s going insane from the hospital food.”

You’re not sure if it’s the sound of food or the mention of Beomgyu that has Taehyun perking up with interest, but you’re rolling your eyes at him nonetheless as you’re starting your car; driving towards Ms. Choi’s restaurant, you’re guessing it’s the former as Taehyun tells you that all he wants at the moment is some simple ramen. 

The drive is calming— Taehyun doesn’t seem as annoying to you anymore, but a glance at him makes you realize it’s only because he’s knocked out in your passenger’s seat, completely silent save for his occasional shifting to get more comfortable.

Now this is a side of him you like. 

⊹⊹⊹

Seokjin’s words seem to have affected you more than you’d like to admit. 

At least, they definitely have if it’s enough to have Taehyun staring at you as though you’ve gone mad, feeling a strange heat rush to your cheeks as you press your lips together awkwardly. 

“Are you messing with me?” 

“No. Unless you want to go back to the usual,” you snap, and Taehyun can only put his hands up in surrender as he bows his head down; your proposal to have a rest day feels odd to Taehyun, even more so when you’ve already managed to drag the man all the way to the club.

“What’re we even doing here then?”

“There’s less than a week left before the match,” you sigh, feeling your phone buzz in your back pocket as you pause to check the message— you feel your shoulders slump with relief as you’re answering, glancing up at Taehyun, who was already watching you curiously.

“While you have shown improvement in your techniques, there’s still more you could improve on,” your sentence is interrupted as the sound of the door opens, the two of you turning to see who might be coming in— while Taehyun fully expected Jin to burst inside and start complaining, he’s surprised to find something else. 

“I don’t want your body to wear out on me, so I’ll tone down the intensity of your routines as the final day approaches,” you continue, unfazed by the people that begin to approach— Yoongi is casual as he sends the two of you a wave, the woman next to him sending you a cheery nod before her gaze is falling on Taehyun.

“And we’ll work on your fighting IQ instead.” 

One glance at Taehyun is enough to tell you that he has yet to connect the dots; you’re gesturing for the woman next to Yoongi to step forward, bringing her to your side before you’re introducing her— Taehyun notes that the two of you must be good friends, if the way she clings to you happily is enough of a sign. 

“This is Sooyoung,” you say, and the woman next to you— Sooyoung— simply smiles, her eyes creasing and her face lighting up as she sends Taehyun a friendly wave, “Sooyoung, Taehyun.”

“So he’s the reckless boy you were telling me about?” Sooyoung asks, tinted lips pursing as she stares Taehyun down— the nickname is enough to have Taehyun’s gaze hardening, sending the woman a harsh look that only makes her laugh— the woman’s bubbly attitude feels far more patronizing than genuine as she tilts her head like a puppy. 

“I do see potential,” she murmurs, lost in thought for a second before she’s snapping out of it— turning to Yoongi, she practically bounces over to him, and it isn’t until then that Taehyun takes in the duffle bag that the man carried in with him. 

“The locker rooms are back there, right?” Sooyoung asks, looking at you expectantly before you’re sending her a nod of confirmation. Cool. Be right back! she says, skipping away with the duffle bag, her long dark hair swaying behind her as Taehyun’s mouth falls open at his words.

“Is she— am I fighting her?” Taehyun breathes out, a bit skeptical as he looks at you in bewilderment. All he gets in return is the usual roll of your eyes, unable to hold back your laugh at his stupidity. 

“No dumbass,” You say, reaching up for the zipper of your jacket before you’re tugging it down— it isn’t until you’re shedding the layer off that Taehyun takes in your appearance, your hair tied back and your face turning serious as you begin stretching— he takes note of your hands, wrapped tightly in the wraps he always uses as his brows are jumping up in realization— catching his reaction, you smile. 

“I am.” 

Sooyoung is skipping out of the locker room moments later; it’s hard to not notice her, especially with her bright trunks and wraps that match the rest of her outfit— a bright green, the hair tie that keeps her hair up the exact same color as she makes her way to the cage. 

“You’ll be my coach for this. I’ll only follow your instructions, so you better not get me fucked up,” you explain, joining Sooyoung by the cage before you’re turning back— Taehyun has yet to follow you, his brows furrowed as he waits for you to tell him you’re joking; instead, you’re left unamused as you cross your arms, hissing for him to hurry up and get over here. 

“How is this supposed to help?” Taehyun asks, his gaze following you as you make your way inside; he’s never seen you like this, and though he hates to admit it, you’ve definitely piqued his interest.

“Seriously, are you always like this?” Is all you can say, looking down at Taehyun from where you stand within the cage— Taehyun remains silent, choosing to hold his tongue for once as he simply stares at you in response.

“You’ve never seen The Cobra fight. You don’t know what moves he’ll pull or how to counter them,” you begin, glancing back to the opposite corner; Sooyoung is crouched down in it, speaking to Yoongi through the fence as they throw the occasional look back at you, “You need to learn how to analyze your opponent— their tells, fighting style, go-to moves— everything.”

“Yoongi is coaching Joy in this match; the next match, he’ll be coaching me.” Taehyun finally seems to understand as he looks at Sooyoung— or Joy, as you called her, the strange nickname not going unnoticed by him as he furrows his brows at the sound of it. Yoongi coached Jongseong— so did you. 

Through this match, he’ll get to take a peek into his opponents mind, no matter how miniscule. 

After a minute of discussion, you finally decide to start the first round; Taehyun is oddly anxious as he watches you, your footsteps careful and calculated as you watch Joy, eyes narrowed and dark as you keep your guard up— the said man’s advice runs through your head, knowing you warned him you’d mostly be using his tips as you circle Joy carefully. 

Taehyun realizes why Sooyoung is called Joy; he almost feels unnerved looking at her, the carefree smile and relaxed body language entirely enticing, a perfect trap to lure someone into lowering their guard— but Taehyun knows better than to think lowly of anyone you decide to bring in, her light steps and playful jabs enough to tell him that she’s definitely more calculative than she lets on.

Taehyun’s advice gets you a solid punch to the face and a painful kick to the stomach— it hurts like hell and makes you want to fight properly, but the need to allow Taehyun to improve on his own is nagging as you take the injuries and trudge over after the round is over, eyes pointed at him as though to say now what?

“Don’t look at me like that,” Taehyun hisses, annoyed at the way you already seem to be losing— he knows you can fight, yet the results of the round say otherwise as you stare at him expectantly, enough of a reminder that you currently put all strategies into his hands. 

“Okay, okay,” he sighs, glancing back at the corner Joy and Yoongi currently converse in, “It’s clear that she enjoys taunting you. A lot.”

Taehyun seems to be talking more to himself than anything, thinking back to what he saw as he continues rambling, “But she seems to have this tell— every time she’s going to strike, she smiles a bit— which is fucking creepy— it’s barely there but I’ve noticed it, especially in her eyes.”

His comments have you both impressed and amused; it had taken you quite some time to figure out Joy’s tell when you first met her, so to watch as Taehyun thoroughly breaks down her fighting style is enough to have you listening to him intently. 

“I think she’s aware of it too, because her rear hand always comes a little closer to her face when she does it—” the one-minute timer is up as Yoongi calls you back to the center of the ring, and you’re looking at Taehyun expectantly for one last comment— with his train of thought interrupted, he stumbles over his words, giving up after a moment before he’s waving you off. 

“Just watch her tells. Oh, and avoid her kicks, that looked like it hurt.”

The way you scoff mockingly isn’t lost on Taehyun— but before he can call you out on it, you’re off, the next round starting as Taehyun watches you carefully.

Joy’s tell has become much more obvious to him; it only takes a moment, but he’s able to see every small habit and go-to that Joy has, his mind racing with strategies as he quickly realizes you’re doing the same. Joy is a predictable fighter to you— granted, she was your sparring partner for years— and with Taehyun’s new discovery, you allow yourself to exploit what you know of her and use it to your advantage. 

You’re able to turn the match around with ease— Taehyun isn’t able to fight the way his eyes slowly begin to stray, away from Joy and to you, observing the way you remain focused, your moves precise and strong as he even finds himself wincing at times.

After a moment, Taehyun realizes that he’s seeing you in a new light— literally and figuratively, the spotlights suddenly turned on as someone new walks in— it highlights your features perfectly, and Taehyun is able to see your expression crystal clear, watching as your focus is shattered and you’re looking over at the entrance; the small moment of distraction costs you greatly, and Joy is able to land a punch straight to your nose before you’re falling down. 

You’re placed into a tight chokehold seconds after, still disoriented from the punch as you reluctantly tap out— gasping for air, you’re quickly turning back to the entrance, glaring daggers at Jungkook, who simply smiles at you sheepishly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, cheeks reddening slightly from the sudden attention, “we’re just getting ready to open soon— you looked really cool though, ___.”

A moment passes before you’re laughing softly at his comment— Taehyun can’t help but wonder what might be going on between you two as Joy pulls you up, calling an early end to the match before you’re both exiting the cage. 

“That was super fun,” Sooyoung hums, watching as you can only agree reluctantly; she coos at your disgruntled state, patting your head and laughing cutely as she apologizes for her harsh blows; turning to Taehyun, her smile widens, and Taehyun is impressed to find a bruise forming on her jawline as she speaks. 

“___ told me you figured out my tells,” she pouts, her tone playful as she crosses her arms, “I seriously thought I finally got past those. Well done.” 

Taehyun feels oddly embarrassed as he nods.

“Let’s continue where we left off tomorrow,” you say, glancing over to where Jungkook busies himself at the bar, ignoring the way all of you seem to observe him for a second before you continue, “Looks like you’re not that useless after all.”

“I think he’ll be okay!” Sooyoung says, a bright smile on her face as she looks at Taehyun happily, “I mean, if you keep going the way you are, you’ll definitely survive!”

The way you and Yoongi snicker makes Taehyun’s jaw clench, rolling his eyes at the way they all constantly patronize him— his lack of response is enough to have Sooyoung apologizing softly, saying that she just loves to tease.

“We should go,” you say, throwing your jacket back on and zipping it up all the way, “they’re opening soon, and I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t wanna be in a place like this any longer.”

Yoongi and Sooyoung agree— they mumble something along the lines of “brings back too many memories,” the words making Taehyun raise a brow as he begins to wonder just how many people you knew from that club. 

Taehyun feels awkward as he watches them leave— it’s just you and him, and he’s forced to stand around awkwardly as he watches you gather your things, reluctant to leave you for reasons he can’t seem to think of. 

“___, you’re not staying?” Jungkook’s soft pout is a stark contrast to the rest of him, decked in full black and piercings that shine under the lights— Taehyun wonders if the bartender is secretly a fighter as well, the muscle that bulges from his arm not remotely subtle, even under the sleeves of his shirt. 

“Nah, I’m too tired. I took a good beating ‘cause of you,'' you say, watching as Jungkook only smiles sheepishly. Your body feels sore and you’re more than ready to go home and rest, but the way Jungkook continues to give you puppy eyes suggests that you might have to fight him off too. 

“I can patch you up,” he says, and you’re rolling your eyes at the way he flutters his eyes at you, “I haven’t seen you in so long— you’re never at the restaurant, you know.”

“Well, I am kinda busy,” you say, nodding softly at Taehyun who, to your surprise, is still at your side. 

Jungkook remains silent for a second. His eyes leave yours as they inspect Taehyun, analyzing the man who simply huffs and crosses his arms in annoyance. Meeting his eyes, Taehyun refuses to back down, raising a brow as he waits for Jungkook to say something to him. 

“Aren’t you tired of being around him all the time?” Jungkook finally speaks, clearly set on ignoring Taehyun as he turns back to you— his smile is seemingly innocent as he leans against the counter, ignoring his duties as he continues to try to get you to stay, “I can bet you I’m more fun to be around than him.”

“Noona,” Taehyun says, his voice stern and clear as speaks. This time, you both turn to him; your shock is clear on your face, eyes wide and confused as your brows knit together, wondering where the sudden formality appeared from. 

“We should go. This place is opening soon,” he says, watching as your mouth opens in an attempt to respond— though you can’t seem to figure out what to say, and Taehyun is quick to roll his eyes and go ahead— with one last glance at Jungkook, you bid him goodbye, feeling oddly tense as you follow Taehyun outside. 

“Shit,” he hears you say, though he doesn’t pay any mind to it as he stands outside— the smell of rain lingers in the air, the city alight and busy even after dark hours— from behind him, he can still hear you mumbling to yourself, your words incoherent and irritated to his ears. 

“You know, if you wanted to stay with that guy you could’ve—“ he’s stopped short by the sight of you, brows furrowed together and a sleeve pressed firmly to your nose as you curse under your breath— though the blood that ran out of your nose still clings to your chin, and you have yet to wipe it off as you continue to complain about the issue quietly, digging in your bag as you ignore Taehyun. 

“Hey, you don’t happen to have tissues, do you—?” 

The answer is a definite no. Taehyun can feel himself acting on impulse— maybe it was because the sight made him cringe, or maybe he was looking out for your safety— but next thing he knows, he’s tugging you along, away from the hidden building and straight to the convenience store a block away. 

“Wait, where are we even going?” You ask, unable to put up much of a fight as you focus on keeping the bleeding under control. Taehyun doesn’t answer, and when you attempt to tug your arm out of his grip, all you get in response is the feeling of his fingers tightening around you. 

“Tissues,” Taehyun mumbles, tugging you into the store without a second thought. 

You feel oddly awkward around him— you’re not used to seeing him like this— he’s quiet, serious and not the same person that’s always trying to piss you off with some ridiculous comment. Instead, he’s oddly tentative, and you find yourself sitting at the table placed outside as you watch him rummage through the bag, pulling out one thing after another as you sit there, pressing the tissue he gave you a bit firmer to your nose. 

“This wasn’t necessary, you know,” you say quietly, eyes narrowing as you observe him carefully— despite your constant reassurance that you didn’t want him to spend on you, you currently watch him eat his instant noodles in silence, your own still covered up and warm while the two of you wait for your nose bleed to die down— though you pretend otherwise, you notice the way he glances at you every other second to see how you’re doing, offering to pour you a bit of soju that you decline with a soft scoff. 

“A ‘thank you’ would suffice,” he comments, his words muffled through a mouthful of noodles— he ignores your scolding to not talk with his mouth full, clicking your tongue in annoyance as you only get a roll of his eyes in return. 

“Yeah…. thanks,” you mutter, barely audible as you take the tissue away from your nose slowly— Taehyun is mid-bite as he freezes, eyes darting up to observe you— and you smile slightly, relieved to feel that your nose bleed is finally gone. 

“Ugh, that was so annoying,” you grumble, wiping at your face for any blood that’s still there; you’re fussing quietly to yourself, unable to notice as Taehyun begins to rummage through his plastic bag once more, finally finding his desired item before he throws it at you, the small packet landing right in front of you unceremoniously. 

“Here,” is all he says, avoiding any more eye-contact as he goes back to eating, the ramen disappearing within seconds from how quickly he eats. 

An odd silence falls between you; the ‘thank you’ you let out is barely audible, your demeanor awkward as you open the packet of wet wipes he tossed at you— he simply nods at you in response, and you find yourself feeling tense as you watch him sit back in his seat, shameless in the way he stares you down, clear in thought as he presses his lips together. 

“Back at the club,” you begin awkwardly, folding the wet tissue in your hands as you speak, “you called me “noona”— the hell was that about? You’re not one for formalities.”

“But you’re older, aren’t you?” Taehyun says, oddly unfazed by your sudden line of questioning, “Thought I might as well start, if we’re spending so much time together.”

“Not even Beomgyu calls me that,” you say, bristling at the way he quotes Jungkook— you feel oddly flustered by the sudden title, even more so when Taehyun simply looks up at you after a moment— his eyes are wide and innocent as he observes you, and slowly, he breaks out into a soft smile. 

“I’m just being polite,” he says, straightening in his seat as he tilts his head, “Noona.”

“Enough of that,” you bark out, gritting your teeth at the way he only grins at your response, “We need to talk strategy— your fight’s a few days away.”

“Right, right,” Taehyun says, chopsticks circling the inside of his bowl as pauses, thinking back to the man he only got a glimpse of in FightX, “Jongseong— what’s he like?” 

The sudden question has you sitting back in your chair, deep in thought as you think back to Jongseong— The Cobra, or the scrawny thirteen-year-old boy that stumbled into Minho’s convenience store by what you thought was an accident. 

“Can you teach me how to fight?” He had asked you, eyes wide and innocent as he stared up at you, a mere sixteen-year-old that worked at Minho’s store as a side hustle. You remembered pretending as though you had no idea what he was talking about, laughing off the way his curious gaze drifted over the pain patches on your shoulders and your bruised knuckles.

“Where’s your mother?” You remembered asking, incredulous at the way he refused to leave or buy anything; instead, he insisted that you teach him to fight, gluing his feet to the floor despite the fact that you chose to ignore any questions he had about you and your secret hobbies. 

“Don’t know,” he admitted casually, and it wasn’t until then that you noticed his roughed up appearance, his face dirtied and bruised, and his hair filled with dirt and twigs, “she doesn’t come home until night time. I’m alone right now.”

“What… happened to your face?” You asked him, leaning on the counter to get a closer look; you remember reaching over to rid his hair of the dirt, watching as he scrunched his face and slapped your hand off in reaction— the sight of him was an eerie mirror of your own before you found Minho, your brows furrowing at the tough front this kid seemed to put up. 

“Some stupid kids at my school,” he brushed you off, running a hand through his hair as he felt the dirtiness of it with a wince; looking back at you, he took in your concerned expression, frowning at the sight as he leaned against the counter. 

“You know,” he says, raising a brow at the way you study his injuries, “If you’re that worried, why don’t you teach me how to fight?”

His proposition caught your attention— his words were reminiscent of your own, years ago, when you stumbled upon Minho’s small club by accident, a sad attempt to find asylum— and suddenly, you found yourself thinking it through. 

“Okay. But just for self-defense.”

“So you practically raised him,” Taehyun says, the very thought of it making you shiver as you shake your head no, your eye twitching at his words, “No? Well, you did train him, right?”

“Well, he trained for a good two years. Yoongi and I trained him for a while since everyone was too busy to deal with another newbie, and Minho…” sighing, you go to open your own instant noodles, now cooled and a bit soggy as you wince slightly at the sight, “Minho had the idea to throw him in the ring after he reached fifteen.”

You still remember his first fight— you remember being strictly against it the moment Minho proposed it, sudden and instant as he quickly escorted Jongseong away from you; you, being freshly out of a match, barely had any energy to fight back properly. 

“This isn’t what he wants. This is too dangerous, Minho,” you remembered telling him, trying to reason with him despite the roaring spectators drowning your voice out. You remembered how Jongseong looked under Minho’s arm; small, skittish and tense, his eyes flicking around the cage in attempts to familiarize himself with the layout as Minho’s fingers only dug deeper into his shoulder. 

“Of course it’s what he wants,” Minho responded, always quick to leave you helpless with the way he towered over you, a Cheshire smile on his lips as his eyes twinkled with a dangerous delight, “Don’t you remember how you were in your first fight? Could barely throw a punch.”

Before you could argue, Minho continued. 

“You know he has potential. What, afraid he’ll steal the spotlight from you and Yoongi?” Jongseong’s eyes flickered to you then— and in that moment, you realized just how long Minho seemed to have prepared him for this moment, the deep breath he took stabilizing him momentarily as Minho leaned down to speak quietly in his ear. 

“Do you know how much money you could make from today’s match?” Minho had told Jongseong sweetly, and the two of them looked over to the other side of the cage, where his opponent waited for him, “It’s your first match— but I’ve given you an easy kill, I know you’ll win.”

An easy kill— that was definitely one way to describe Jongseong’s victory. You watched first hand as the fear drained from Jongseong’s face, replaced with a dangerous gaze that you had never seen before; you watched as he threw perfect jabs, calculated and lethal as he landed hook after hook on his opponent. 

Even now, you can’t help but feel surprised at how protective you got over him— especially when he was sent flying with a kick to the stomach, crashing against the ground and leaving you tense as you watched the way he didn’t move. 

At the memory, you laugh softly— your eyes flicker up to Taehyun’s, your tone grim as you speak. 

“That was his winning move.”

His opponent got sloppy— he let his guard down, approaching Jongseong so casually that the punch he got to the jaw was definitely deserved— and though his body crashed to the floor and Jongseong was able to get the higher ground, he didn’t stop. 

“He doesn’t care if you’re down. He doesn’t care if he’s won,” you grit out, your appetite lost as you stare down at your cold food, the memory of Jongseong landing hit after hit to his weakened opponent making you frown. 

You still remember the look in his eyes as the referee tore him off his opponent; wild and hungry, still lusting for blood as he attempted to shake the authority figure off. Even when his eyes met yours, horrified at the person Jongseong transformed into, he didn’t care, his grin only widening as the referee announced his name, the audience going wild at the way his arm was thrust up in victory.

The spectacle of his lethal fighting style earned him his special nickname; Minho’s triumphant smile left a sick feeling in your stomach, forced to listen to the way the announcers paraded around Jongseong like a killer animal. 

After that day, you watched Jongseong grow into the person he is today; cold, calculated, and borderline murderous. 

“Every time I look at him, I’m reminded of the kid who came to me looking to learn self-defense,” you chuckle dryly, frowning at the memory, “Then I remember who he’s become, and I can’t help but feel responsible for it.”

“When I met Beomgyu through that god-forsaken club, I was reminded of Jongseong,” the sudden revelation has Taehyun listening intently, leaning in to watch as your eyes drift off to the city around you, foggy and reminiscent as you tell him your story. 

“For some reason, I thought that maybe this time, I could prevent him from becoming a monster,” you mutter, leaning your chin into your palm as you sigh, “Though, I don’t think I like this outcome either.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Taehyun quickly interjects, and he flinches slightly at the way your eyes flicker back to meet his, regarding him for a moment before you smile. 

“I know. It was yours.”

He’s not sure how to respond to that; he’s not sure if he should, unsure of what he should say or do as you stare him down silently— after a second, you’re breaking out into a soft laugh, tired and broken up as you wince from the feeling of your bruised ribs.

“I’m just fuckin with you,” you say, sitting up at you take in the way Taehyun visibly relaxes, “You didn’t force Beomgyu to do anything. It was all out of his free will.”

“And I kinda know that you lied about the whole thing being your idea.”

Your confession has Taehyun looking like a deer in headlights— it’s enough to make you laugh, easing the tense mood as he asks you how you knew.

“I had my suspicions from the very beginning,” you say, pausing for a second before you add cheekily, “And, Beomgyu told me.”

“Ah,” he mumbles, biting his lip as he tries to smile at you, “Sorry I lied.”

“Don’t be. It’s interesting that you chose to cover for him,” you say, returning the awkward smile as you add, “I should be the one sorry. For slapping the shit out of you.”

The two of you laugh— though, it’s a bit tense, and a silence falls between you two after.

“You… met Beomgyu? At that club?” He asks after a moment, watching the way you nod without hesitation. 

“Yeah. He was sixteen, I made sure to kick him out and warn him once I saw how his worried mother came looking for him. And it worked, for like two years. Then…” 

“Then Jin’s club opened.”

You raise a brow at his words, pausing in surprise before you’re nodding slowly. 

“Yeah, then Seokjin’s club opened,” you repeat slowly, frowning at the way he already knew, “Beomgyu found himself involved there, and it wasn’t long before his mother came to FightX looking for him. Jin’s club wasn’t as shady— I mean, compared to FightX, that place was like a church. I knew I didn’t have much to worry about, but I still decided to train him for a while… just to be safe.”

Taehyun sees the way your eyes are filled with nostalgia, a soft smile forming on your face from the memories.

“That’s kinda how I ended up where I am now. I could only drag Beomgyu back to his house so many times before his mother started treating me like family too,” meeting Taehyun’s gaze, you’re surprised to see him listening to you intently— it has you tensing slightly, not realizing how much you’ve revealed about yourself until now. 

“So,” you start, clearing your throat awkwardly from the way Taehyun’s gaze sears into you intensely, “What’s your story? How’d you end up in this scene?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing interesting,” Taehyun waves you off, though you refuse to be the only one delving into their personal life as you press Taehyun for details, “Seriously, it’s pretty normal.”

“Well, tell me anyways,” you say softly, tilting your head as you send Taehyun a challenging look, “Might as well get to know each other, if we’re spending so much time together.”

The way he laughs softly at your mocking comment is slightly contagious— and though you pretend otherwise, you notice the bittersweet look on his face as he reaches for the bottle of soju, pouring himself a shot for the first time in a while before he offers you one; with a slight laugh, you accept it. 

“I got into mma with a friend of mine— gave me lessons, sparred with each other, all that fancy stuff. We were really close, and getting into this hobby together only made us closer,” he laughed softly at his words, his mind filled with memories as he stared down at the table, “And now… Well. He’s not around anymore. Passed away less than a year ago.”

You frown softly at the way he pours himself another shot— the grief on his face is still fresh, you realize, his gaze hardening as he places the shot cup back down. 

“Without him, I felt… lost. I didn’t really know what to do with myself— after a while, I mostly felt angry.” His finger traces around the rim of the cup, slow and steady as he takes a moment to pause, “I hated that feeling. So, I tried finding the next best outlet, and found a few underground clubs. That’s how I met Beomgyu.”

The air is tense from his story; you’ve never been the best at comforting, so you find yourself unsure of what to do. After a moment, Taehyun laughs, taking in your tense expression with amusement, and it’s only then that your eyes fall onto the dimple that digs into his cheeks cutely. 

“God, I’m sure he’d go nuts if he knew the shit I got myself into,” he says, running a hand through his hair as he shakes his head, “I’m not sure if he’d want to stop the fight or get front row seats— hell, probably the latter.”

Taehyun is quick to pick up on the glint of amusement in your eyes— he’s just as quick to reach for the soju bottle and pour the two of you another shot, the air much lighter than it was a moment ago as you watch him give you a bright smile, the sight unusual for you as you find yourself giving him an unsure one in return. 

“We only have three days left,” Taehyun says, bringing his glass up, watching the way you shake your head in amusement, “Let’s keep up the hard work, noona.”

“Don’t call me that.” You grimace, clinking your glass with his before you’re both downing the liquid—though you can’t help the slight smile that tugs at your lips in amusement, watching as Taehyun slowly becomes more open with you as you let him finish the bottle— I have to drive, idiot, you told him with a sneer, pushing the bottle back to him when he pouted that he shouldn’t be drinking alone. 

Taehyun is oddly light—and lightweight— though, not light enough for you to be tugging along back to your car, grimacing at the way he stumbles and knocks into you drunkenly.

“Noona,” he said to you, his words slow as he smiled at the way you snapped at him to not call you that, “Noona, you think I’ll win?”

“Fuck, I hope so,” you grumble, finding your car in the now-filled abandoned parking lot that was close to Jin’s, “It would be a huge fucking waste of time if you didn’t.”

“Okay then,” Taehyun pouts, pushing you away from him and walking off to his own car, only for you to tug him back to your own as you tell him he shouldn’t drive like this, “Why would I wanna be stuck in the car with someone who acts like such a bitch?”

“I act like a bitch because I care,” you bark, opening the car door and shoving him carelessly, only to watch as he turns back to look at you with that same, stupid, patronizing smile. 

“If you say so,” he says, his cheeks a bit flushed as he leans back towards you, “Nooooo...na.”

Your reaction is immediate— he feels as though the punch you land on his arm is enough to sober him, rubbing the sore area with a drunken pout.

“Get in the damn car.”

⊹⊹⊹

You currently stand outside FightX. There’s an hour left before the match.

You pace around in worry, unable to stand still as you hear the ruckus of the club and it’s awaiting patrons inside. Your brows are knitted in a deep frown and you can’t fight the way you bite your lip anxiously as you walk around in restless circles, over and over as you’re left in deep thought. 

“Stop that, you’re making me dizzy,” a voice calls out, snapping you out of your daze as you watch Taehyun walk up with a leisurely smile on his face— the sight is almost unnerving, his mood a complete opposite from yours as you watch him adjust the strap of his bag on his shoulder, taking a moment before he’s standing before you. 

“Aren’t you nervous?” You ask, watching as he simply shakes his head without hesitation, “you’d be stupid not to be— although, that does make sense…”

“Hey,” he says, lips pressed into a line as he frowns at you, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t degrade me before the match. You’re messing up my concentration.” 

“Right. Of course,” you huff out, looking away and missing the way that Taehyun smiles, taking in your jittery figure with amusement— his expression is immediately dropping the moment you look back at him, and he’s mentally cursing at himself for suddenly being so weird. 

“Are you gonna make me workout before the match or something? Why are we here so early?” He asks, tilting his head and taking in your attire slowly; it’s not what you wear when you train him, but it’s still light and athletic as he raises a brow at your apparel, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to wear my energy out just yet.”

“I’m not making you do anything, I just needed you to be here so you could get into the right mindset.” you say, and your response is enough to leave Taehyun silent as he stares at you; it’s odd, and you find yourself unnerved by his analytic stare. “What? What’s wrong with you now?”

“Are you worried?” He asks, his question sudden as he takes a step toward you— startled, you try your best to remain unfazed, resisting the urge to take a step back as you take in his sudden proximity.

“Worried? About what?” You say, your responses much too curt to seem natural; mentally, you’re cursing at yourself for feeling so odd, unable to hide what you’re thinking as well as you usually are— especially under Taehyun’s scrutinizing gaze. 

“Worried…. That I’ll lose?” He says, leaning in slightly to get a better look at your face; you refuse to pull away, looking into his eyes and keeping your expresion blank despite how close he is— his scent is invading your senses, oddly alluring as you finally get a good look at the man before you, “Or… no.” 

Another pause. You don’t know what Taehyun might say next, but judging by the way his lips twitch with the hint of a smile, you know you won’t like it. 

“Maybe… worried I’ll get hurt?”

Your eye twitches. 

“Hmm. Okay,” he says, quick to catch your small reaction as he backs away, a smug smile on his face— you frown, wondering what he might be insinuating as you send him an incredulous look. 

“Okay? Okay what?” You say, watching as Taehyun chooses to remain silent— his sudden refusal to speak to you has you far more annoyed than you’d like, slapping his arm and telling him to look at you, irked by the way he deliberately ignores your request and looks around in wonder, “Okay what? Of course I’m concerned!” 

Your sudden confession has Taehyun’s gaze snapping back to yours. 

“If The Cobra takes you out, we lose. And if we lose,” you pause, taking in Taehyun’s expression— he’s bewildered, mouth slightly parted as he listens to your irritated words— “If we lose… seriously, will you stop looking at me like that?”

“If we lose…” he repeats slowly, and your frown only deepens in response, “You said we.” 

“Yeah…?”

“You’re… coaching me?” 

“No, I’m getting front row seats and betting against you,” you scoff, rolling your eyes and smacking Taehyun’s bicep in annoyance, “Yes, I’m coaching you. Wouldn’t be here wasting my time if I wasn’t.”

The way Taehyun’s eyes are sparkling under the lights is slightly creepy— you don’t think you’ve even seen such a genuine expression on him before, and you can only take a step back in uncertainty as Taehyun smiles at you; a genuine, soft smile. 

“Right, it’s just…” he pauses, clearing his throat before he’s reaching towards you to return the hit you gave him moments ago— though it’s a bit stiff, and you’re raising a brow at the action as you watch Taehyun carefully, “Haven’t had a coach in a while.”

Oh.

You’re sure the thought shows on your face, the reminder of Taehyun’s past life coming back to the forefront of your mind with a slight pang of guilt— though Taehyun doesn’t let you dwell on it, making fun of your face and prodding at you with enough annoying comments that you have to meditating to not slap the shit out of him. 

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll beat you before your match even starts,” you hiss, your threat enough of an incentive to get him off your back, “Yoongi and Sooyoung are coming as well. We’ll wait for them before we go in.”

“Are they really?” Taehyun asks, and you simply nod in response— the thought of Sooyoung watching him fight wasn’t exactly pleasant, and he finds himself thinking back to the nickname you gave her in the ring, “Joy… what an odd name. Did you ever get a title back here? I don’t think you ever mentioned it.”

“Because I didn’t have one,” you huff, rolling your eyes at the way he seems surprised by that, “My name was enough intimidation for them.”

Wowww, Taehyun cooed, the patronizing gesture enough to have you reaching to smack him on instinct— though it seems as though your move was too predictable for him, flinching out of the way with ease and continuing to send you that stupid smug smile, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he continued to try and provoke you. 

“If you two are done with this weird tension, we’d like to go in now,” the look Yoongi sends you is enough to have your face heating up with embarrassment, unsure of what he might mean with his words as you shake your head in annoyance— grabbing Taehyun’s elbow, you lead him down the steps, watching as Yoongi and Sooyoung follow behind with teasing eyes. 

“Yoongi, did you have to bring your men along? It’s already crowded enough in there as it is,” you groan, your head beginning to ache at the sight of the packed club— Yoongi simply scoffs, telling you better safe than sorry as he gestures for the two of you to go inside. 

“Go find Minho,” Yoongi nudges you, and you nod firmly at his words, “Make sure to let him know we are also here.”

If you insist, you mumble, ready to go off before you feel Sooyoung grab onto your elbow, tugging you back to get your attention— the moment your eyes meet, she sends you a bright smile, pairing it with a thumbs up as she squeezes your arm in reassurance.

“You got this!” She says, letting you go and watching as you weave through the crowd with Taehyun in tow. 

“You think we’ll win?” Yoongi mutters in Sooyoung’s ear, watching the way her smile tenses a bit. 

“I prayed a little yesterday.”

⊹⊹⊹

“…from what I remember, he’s very straightforward; very serious— spends a good couple of minutes gauging what kind of fighter you are before he strikes. I need you to be careful during this match, okay? Fight with your brain, not just your fists.”

You’ve been talking Taehyun’s ear off for an impressively long time. Taehyun didn’t think it was possible to see you like this, restless and fidgety as you followed him into the locker to give him a pep talk. There was ten minutes left before the fight.

“Relax, I got this,” Taehyun says, and he’s greeted with an unamused look of yours in return, “I didn’t watch you and Joy beat the hell out of each other for nothing, you know.”

The mention of your matches with Sooyoung is enough to have you cringing; while it was good for Taehyun to get a grasp of what you and Yoongi might’ve taught Jongseong and vice-versa, it wasn’t as good to leave sore after each training day you spent with him.

“Can’t believe I did that,” you mutter to yourself, leaning against the lockers behind you in dismay. Though by the way you can hear Taehyun laugh at you mockingly, you know he picked up on it as well. 

“You care more than you let on, noona,” he smiles, your eye twitching at the name; you have yet to get used to this sudden formality, and Taehyun is clearly taking advantage of it, judging by the way his smile only widens with your every reaction. 

“Noona?” The source of the voice is from someone you’d never forget; both you and Taehyun are looking over at the entrance in an instant, and you can feel your eyes widen as you take in the way Jongseong stands there, much more grown than the last time you saw him. 

“Oh. Hi,” you grit out awkwardly, cringing at how tense you sound.

“Hi? Is that all you have to say?” He asks, walking toward you without hesitation; his hair is black and slicked back neatly, a stark contrast to the messy brown hair he could never bother to style when he was younger, “it’s been three years, you disappeared without a trace!”

You’re not sure what he’s going to do as he approaches you in a hurry— hug you, maybe— because he pauses, taking in the sight of Taehyun sitting in front of you, his eyes narrowing as he takes a moment to take the man in.

“You’re…” he pauses, brows furrowing as he goes deep in thought for a second, “Taehyun.”

Taehyun’s name falls from his lips with pure disdain; Jongseong is looking between you and him, his face dropping with disappointment as everything begins to click together in his mind.

“I was hoping Minho was lying,” Jongseong mutters, taking a step back from you as he meets your eyes; he no longer holds the same, wide and nostalgic gaze that greeted you when you first saw him. Instead, it’s cold and scathing, a reflection of the dangerous man you’re preparing Taehyun to face in the ring. 

“You’re coaching him, then?” He asks, and all you can do is nod as you take in the anger in his eyes, wondering what lies Minho has been feeding him to look at Taehyun with such hatred, “I see.”

He’s backing away from you. You feel as though you’re losing him all over again as you watch his eyes turn to you, filled with nothing but restless anger as he sends you a vicious smile. 

“Try not to lose another one, noona,” he says, feigning a pout as he takes in the way your jaw clenches at his words. His eyes flicker over to Taehyun, pleased to find that his jab seems to have affected him, as well, “Good luck. You’ll definitely need it.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, waving you off before he’s out of sight. It’s quiet, and you’re unsure of what to say now that it’s just the two of you. Sighing, you look back at Taehyun, only to see that his eyes were already on you. 

You gulp. 

Taehyun has never looked this angry; his jaw is clenched and his brows are furrowed as he leans forward, elbows resting on his thighs as he jerks his head side to side— the cracks of his neck have you wincing, though you don’t think he cares, his lips pressing together for a moment before he breaks out into a breathy laugh. 

His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a smile spreading across his face, fangs dangerous as he bites his lip in a failed attempt to suppress it. 

“I can’t wait to fuck him up.”

⊹⊹⊹

The place is packed. 

It’s deafening as you make your way to the cage, Taehyun stuck to your side as the patrons make a path for you; you try not to tense at the feeling of Taehyun’s hand on your waist, pulling you in and keeping you away from the men that stare at you with a disgusting hunger. 

Their excitement is deafening. It makes your head pound and your concentration waver, jolting into Taehyun from the way people try to reach out for you— the call of your name by old regulars isn’t lost on you, but you try to grit your teeth and ignore it. 

“They’re here for you,” Taehyun muses quietly, leaning into you so you can hear him. You scoff, shaking your head as you finally reach the cage’s entrance; Jongseong is already inside, waiting.

“They’re here for you,” you say, watching as Taehyun unzips his jacket and hands it to you; he grins at that, and you’re scolding him to put in his mouthpiece so he can’t come up with a stupid comeback. 

“Go get ‘em tiger,” you grin, watching as Taehyun can only shake his head in amusement. Your eyes flicker back to where Jeongseong stands, chatting idly with his own coach— your expression turns grim at the sight of Minho giving him tips with a bright smile. 

Your hands are warm as you reach out to Taehyun; grabbing both sides of his face, cradling his jaw as you’re pulling him in towards you boldly— he’s slightly caught off guard by your action, eyes widening as he’s forced to remain silently and stare at you stupidly. 

“Light on your feet. Be calm. Preserve your energy,” you say to him, repeating all the tips you’ve given him through three curt sentences. He nods, and you nod along with him, slightly amused at the sight of him.

“You got this. I believe in you.”

You’re pushing him into the cage after that. 

The floor is scuffed and old. It’s nothing in comparison to Jin’s pristine cage, and Taehyun is finally beginning to take it all in as he looks out, the club packed and rowdy as he scans through the crowd; he spots Yoongi and Sooyoung, the two giving him a nod and a thumbs up the moment their eyes meet. 

“Tonight’s match looks quite interesting,” a voice booms out, and Taehyun looks over to the commentator’s table, able to recognize the two faces that beam back at him in excitement— Taemin and Kibum, if he remembers right. 

“Not only is it winner-takes-all, but we also seem to have a legend in our midst— if not, two,” Taemin’s smile is ear to ear as the crowd grows louder, and Taehyun is able to spot you shrinking slightly from the sudden attention. 

“The king and queen of FightX— sound familiar?” If the crowd’s reaction is any indication of their answer, then Taehyun would say yes. Kibum’s laugh echoes around the cage, and Taehyun feels overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

“Not only that, but apparently she’s coaching this guy too!” Taemin and Kibum are off in their own world as they chatter, and Taehyun can’t help but wonder when the theatrics will end and the match will start. 

“Minho even seems to have stepped up for today— the best of the best, hmm?”

Minho is more than willing to indulge in all the fanfare; in the ring, Jongseong only rolls his eyes, clearly as impatient as Taehyun.

“Oooh, now now, we should probably stop,” Kibum grins, nudging Taemin playfully, “It looks like our fighters are getting restless.”

“Right, we should probably get on with it,” Taemin agrees, though the way they both continue to talk says otherwise, “This is what you all came to see, right?!”

More cheers. 

Taehyun has begun drowning everyone out at this point. Even when the referee steps inside and gestures for the two to come to him, he can’t bring himself to listen. Instead, he focuses, his eyes never straying from the man before him.

The Cobra seems to be just as concentrated as him. His gaze is dangerous and he’s restless as he shifts in front of Taehyun, lips twitching into a smile as the referee asks them to be courteous, to touch gloves. 

Neither of them move. 

Three rounds, he hears the referee remind them— then he’s stepping back, gauging their reactions before the loud bell rings out, signaling that the fight has begun. 

Jongseong moves immediately— but he doesn’t strike, and Taehyun’s eyes narrow at the way he remains in a low stance, swaying slightly as he remains on guard; his constant movement makes it difficult for Taehyun to hit him, and he’s left unamused at the way Jongseong seems to taunt and bluff with a mocking smile. 

He throws out meaningless jabs, not bothering to hit him properly as he continues to grin and mess around. This behavior is a strong contrast to the characteristics you warned him of; He keeps his fists close to his face, a complete opposite of Jongseong, who’s body remains relaxed.

Usually, Taehyun would see this as a weakness; he’s left unguarded, goading the audience that only seems to yell at Taehyun to do something— to take the bait. If anything, the way Jongseong smiles through his mouthpiece is enough to remind him of Sooyoung; confident, skilled, quick and agile enough that he can afford to keep his body open as a bluff. 

Taehyun throws a left hook as a test. Immediately, Jongseong is jumping back, dodging it and putting his hands up with such speed that Taehyun could’ve missed it if he blinked. Jongseong’s eyes narrow, and it seems as though he’s realized that Taehyun has caught on to his show tactics.

There’s no room to play around anymore. Jongseong seems to have thrown out any tactics to bait Taehyun, choosing to throw punch after punch instead, a slight form of bait on its own.

Taehyun could fight back. He could retaliate to the blows on his forearms and sides, could try to land a few kicks on the man before him and try to injure him. But he would also waste all his energy in the first round, potentially leaving him vulnerable to The Cobra’s attacks in later rounds. It’s clear that’s what he wants— Taehyun throws a punch here and there to make it seem as though he’s falling into the trap, but your words to preserve his energy ring out in his head all the while. 

The action to remain on defense makes Taehyun look like a coward. But he doesn’t really mind, especially with the way Jongseong grows cocky, a confident smile broad on his face as he lets his guard down slightly, laughing along to the scathing comments the audience throws at him. 

His rear hand falters for a second. And in that second, Taehyun is able to deliver a right hook, his padded fist colliding with Jongseong’s jaw and sending him stumbling off, the people roaring and drowning out the sound of the commentator’s ramblings. 

One minute on the clock, will he be able to get another hit in?! Taehyun is effortless to drown out Kibum’s cries, stepping back the moment Jeongseong is back on his feet— for a moment, the two circle each other, and Taehyun can see the way his opponent’s eyes scan him, mind rapidly thinking of a way to counter his most recent blow. 

Kibum is audibly disappointed at the sound of the first round ending. How uneventful, he mourns, and Taehyun is happy to see that you’ve made it into the cage, Minho trailing behind you as you both get a minute to talk. 

“Fuck, good job, that was a good hit,” you immediately say, grabbing Taehyun’s wrist and dragging him to your corner. His mouth is sore as he takes his mouthpiece out, taking slow drinks of the water bottle you hand him as he listens to you.

“He’s a lot more different now. Still agile, but it looks like he likes playing with his food now,” you say, wiping off the sweet that’s gathered on Taehyun’s skin gently; he feels oddly tense at the action, your tender gesture making his heart beat a little faster as he wonders instead if he’s finally beginning to get nervous from the match.

“He definitely knows you’re not one to play with now, but it’s still good to feed into it sometimes,” you pause, your hand stilling on his chest, the thin towel the only barrier between you as you look up at him sternly, “I know I said to preserve more energy, but get more hits out. He has really good stamina.”

Taehyun tries to sear your words into his head as the referee calls for them to get ready for the next round, the two of you exchanging a reassuring look before you’re off.

Like last time, Jongseong doesn’t seem too keen on being friendly before the match. 

Taehyun takes your advice quite seriously— though Jongseong is also able to get more hits on him this way, his bottom lip cracking open after a particularly rough punch. Jongseong, Taehyun realizes, mostly fights with his upper body. He’s quick on his feet and dodges hits easily, but Taehyun has yet to be pinned down or hit with a kick— he tries to keep this knowledge to himself, the next five minutes uneventful as the round ends without any memorable hits.

Could it be that The Cobra has met his match? Taemin mused into the mic, grinning at the way the crowd only booed in response. Ignore that, you muttered in his ear, rolling your eyes at the way the two commentators were still just as annoying as you remembered. 

“He only punches,” Taehyun comments, his brows furrowing as he looks over to Jongseong’s corner, “No kicks, clinches, anything. It’s odd.” 

“Because he’s saving it for the last round,” you tell him, reaching up to brush the hair from his forehead— you’re serious, trying your best to hide the worry on your face as you warn him, “I’m telling you— he likes to play with his food. Be extra careful, I’m sure he’ll try pulling something new on you.”

The referee calls the break to an end. Pressing your lips together, and you’re nodding as you step back to leave. 

“Go all in now. Everything you got, now’s the time to use it.”

The way Minho laughs as you meet him at the cage entrance has you scoffing; Taehyun can see the older man talking to you, though he’s unable to try and see what he’s saying as the referee calls the fighters to the center.

“Last round,” he reminds, placing a hand on both their shoulders, “Clean, fair fight, okay?”

Jongseong nods— then, he reaches forward, offering his gloves to Taehyun. 

The slight twitch of his lips is mischievous. Slowly, Taehyun does the same; their gloves touch softly, the commentators quick to point it out as the match begins. 

Jeongseong throws a punch instantly. 

It’s like a switch has been flipped in his mind. His eyes are filled with eager bloodlust and alight with adrenaline, throwing hit after hit at Taehyun with no signs of stopping. All Taehyun can do is defend himself, unable to get an opening as he’s forced to take the blows Jongseong delivers.

Taehyun thinks he might have an opening the moment the man backs up, hands going down and leaving him unguarded for a second— but as Taehyun throws out a punch, he’s met with a harsh kick to his side, shocking him and knocking him off balance as Jongseong quickly uses it to his advantage. 

He’s disoriented with how quickly Jongseong wraps around him; limbs tangled, arms around his neck in such a strong chokehold that Taehyun can already feel his head pounding. Is he gonna tap out? He can hear the commentators asking, forcing him to grit his teeth and throw punches at Jeongseong’s head and sides in an attempt to throw him off. 

It seems to work; he’s somehow landed a punch directly to his nose, and the man behind him is stunted by the blow, his hold faltering and giving Taehyun the opening he needed to escape. 

Quick to get up, Taehyun slowly catches his breath. Two minutes on the clock! He hears them yell. Jongseong has yet to get up, the blood dripping from his nose making his eyes widen in shock, watching as he struggles to stumble to his feet, still disoriented from the blow. 

Jongseong’s eyes meet Taehyun’s; he’s tired, a panting mess and reflection of him as he slowly makes his way to Taehyun, stumbling slightly and heavy on his feet as he winces— an easy finish. For a second, Taehyun can feel himself relax, the tension in his body releasing as he watches Jongseong carefully. 

Jongseong takes in Taehyun’s shift instantly— Taehyun is jumping back before he can process it, eyes widening at the way Jongseong aimed a right hook for him, the swing of his arm ripping through the air as he stumbles slightly from the lack of impact. 

Then, he’s knocked back.

Taehyun can barely process the way his body moved with such acute precision, spinning and twisting just as you taught him as he lands with no problem, the feeling of him colliding right into Jongseong oddly instinctual; he watches as the man jolts from the impact, his body stiffening and his eyes rolling back as he can only fall from the impact to his body— to his head. 

The sound of his body colliding against the floor is loud, Jongseong’s face blank as he simply lays there, eyelids flickering and mind swimming in and out of consciousness as the referee runs to him. 

After a moment, the winner is declared. 

Taehyun is unable to process anything— the sounds of the audience roaring, the feeling of his arm being thrust into the air, the sight of Jongseong lying on the ground still— he doesn’t process anything, eyes drifting around and looking for one thing like habit. 

There you are, face alight with joy as you cheer furiously. 

Taehyun laughs slightly— it’s a bit pained, and he winces at the feeling of his sore body, the referee finally letting go of his hand as he stumbles out towards the exit, and straight towards you, pulling his mouth guard out with a wince.

“You did it!” You grin, your voice clear as day, even through the bewildered chatter of the rest as you wave him over. “Fuck, you really did it!”

Taehyun thinks you might hit him again, like you always do; instead, he feels you grab his face, your own alight with euphoria as you tug him into you and crash your lips against his— he barely has enough time to process things before you’re pulling away, your expression sobering as you take in what you just did. 

“Hey!” Yoongi calls out, attempting to weave through the crowd as you turn around to the source of the distraction, “Find Minho, make sure he doesn’t try to slip away!” 

“Right,” you respond, turning back to look at Taehyun— he’s left frozen and bewildered as he looks at you, mouth slightly agape as you feel a heat rush to your face. 

He attempts to call after you, but you’re slipping away before he can get you to stay.

He can still feel the ghost of your lips against his.

⊹⊹⊹

“You guys are insane,” Beomgyu huffs, laying back in his bed with a slight wince, “My mother would be mortified if she found out what you did to get this money.”

“It’s a shame we had to get it at all,” you say, glaring at Beomgyu and watching as he shrinks under your gaze, muttering a quiet sorry, sorry in response. Sighing, you shake your head, taking in Beomgyu’s condition with a smile, “you know, after all these expenses, I think we might just have a bit left over.”

“We could go on a trip,” Beomgyu says without hesitation, and you shake your head in amusement. 

“Focus on getting better first,” you scold, smiling at the way Beomgyu lets out a yes ma’am! In response, “I need to go. Visiting hours are over.”

“I’m supposed to get discharged in two days, don’t forget me!” He calls out, and you choose to ignore it as you exit, stopping in your tracks as you close the door behind you softly.

The last thing you expected was to see Taehyun waiting for you, patched up and changed as he leaned against the wall.

“Hey,” you smile, albeit a bit awkward— he says nothing, and you clear your throat, nodding back to the room behind you nervously, “Visiting hours are over. Uhm, maybe come back tomorrow?”

“I’m not here to see him,” he says, raising a brow at the way you only send him a confused look, “I’m here to see you.”

“And what could you possibly want from me?” Your steps are brisk as you begin to walk back to the exit; Taehyun is just as quick behind you, trying to get your attention to no avail.

“What do you mean what could I possibly want? You’re not one to act stupid, noona,” he says, hot on your trail as you finally make it outside. 

You know he’s right— and yet, you feel terribly awkward about it, refusing to look back at him as you begin to wonder where you could have parked, wandering around the quiet lot— you’re a few feet away from your car when Taehyun grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks and turning you around harshly, his eyes angry as he looks at you.

“You kissed me.”

“What?” You say, trying to shake his hold off as you look up at him with shining, innocent eyes, your right one twitching for a second, “What is this, some kind of adrenaline-induced hallucination? Don’t be weird.”

“Hallucination—” he’s in disbelief as he begins cornering you, your back pressing flat against the driver’s door as he practically towers over you, his free hand planted by your head and caging you in, “The way you felt against me felt very real.”

You gulp. This was weird— this was new, something that you definitely had not accounted for, because as you stare at Taehyun, his gaze intense and his face inches away from yours, you can’t help but feel your face heat up. 

“It’s— it meant nothing,” you stutter out, heart pounding at the way he very clearly doesn’t believe you, “I wasn’t even thinking, I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

“It meant nothing?” He whispers, his voice low and breathy as he leans in even closer; your eyes are shutting from how close he is, able to feel his breath fan across your cheeks as he lets out a soft laugh, “If it meant nothing, then why have you been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been—”

“I don’t appreciate you lying to me, noona.”

You’re silent. Your breaths are shaky, lips parted as you wait for him to say something. 

After a second, his lips press against yours. 

For a second, it’s gentle; unsure, waiting for you to pull away and tell him to leave you alone— instead, you let out a breathy sigh, your lips beginning to move against his.

The moment you reciprocate is the moment he loses control. His hands are coming up to your face, cupping your jaw tenderly and tilting your head up to him, his lips needy and messy as he pries your mouth open, tongue prodding at your mouth before he’s pulling away to sink his teeth into your soft lips— the pained whine you let out has his mind reeling. 

You’re breathless and dazed by the time he finally pulls away— you think you can feel your knees go weak at the sight of a string of saliva connecting between the two of you, watching as he smiles at you cruelly, his gaze dark and hazed as his thumb runs across your bottom lip fondly.

“I won just for you,” he breathes out, eyes darkening from the way your tongue runs across the pad of his finger mindlessly.

“Don’t you think I deserve a reward for working so hard?”

⊹⊹⊹

Taehyun’s apartment is nice— well, at least you think. You didn’t really get a chance to get a good look at it. 

However, you can confidently say that his bed is nice— you practically sink into the soft mattress, the once neatly done sheets beneath you now a mess from the way you’re squirming under Taehyun.

All he’s done is kiss you— yet, you feel so terribly fucked out and needy, unable to keep your hands off him for even a second, your fingers weaved into his hair and tugging as you feel him moan into your mouth. 

“Even now you’re so fucking mean,” he hisses, feeling the way your nails rake down his back; leaving a red trail against his skin, his shirt discarded long ago as he currently worked to get you to do the same. “Shit, I just got out of a match, noona.”

“Shit, you’re right,” you pant, and Taehyun frowns above you as you begin to pull away, “poor baby is too hurt to fuck—”

“I didn’t say that,” he groans, and you’re surprised by the way he takes a hold of your shoulders and pushes you back down into the mattress firmly. He takes this moment to tug your shirt up, throwing it in some random direction before he’s smiling at the sight of you, “Fuck, you have such a smart mouth.”

“Guess it rubbed off,” you say, your words wavering pathetically mid-way, all from the feeling of Taehyun biting and sucking at your neck ruthlessly while his hands came up to feel your breasts, slipping under the fabric and circling your nipples teasingly. 

“Yeah? I taught you that?” He asks, nipping at your skin and taking off your bra with swift hands, “Maybe I should teach you how to be good for me then.”

You’re unable to gather your thoughts and bite back— his mouth is sucking at your nipples messily, tongue making a show of it as he groans at the feeling and traces shapes on your skin, too focused on the messy teasing to notice the moment his hand slips past your waistband and cups your pussy.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet for me noona,” he sighs, middle finger running up and down your slit teasingly, feeling the way you practically soak through your panties, “This wet for me already?” 

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you grumble, mouth falling open at the way he begins prodding your entrance teasingly, pushing into your hole then going to circle your clit slowly over the fabric. 

Taehyun laughs. The way you refuse to submit to him isn’t surprising in the slightest, watching as you refuse to give him reactions with dark eyes, trained carefully onto your face as he feels you get wetter from his motions, taking in what works and what doesn’t simply from the way your face reacts— even if you try to hide it, much to his annoyance. 

“What’s wrong noona? Don’t you feel good?” He asks you quietly, his hands already dragging your pants off agonizingly slowly, biting his lip to suppress the smile that threatens to break through, far too amused by this strong front you seem to put up, “I’ll do better then, don’t worry.”

Taehyun is sinking down to his stomach before you can process anything, hands running along your thighs teasingly before they’re hooking under your knees— lifting them up, pressing them against your stomach, able to look down at your glistening pussy with ease. 

You’re scrambling to hold on to something the moment he gets his mouth on you— he’s pressing you into the mattress, willing to control the way your hips jump as he presses his tongue flat against your slit, drinking up your wetness and teasing the tip of his tongue along your fluttering hole. The moans you let out are pathetic and embarrassing, your face heating up as you begin to squirm the moment Taehyun wraps his lips around your clit, face buried in your pussy and hair soft tickling against your thighs as he eats you out. 

The sounds are enough to make you cover your face— Taehyun is shameless as he eats you out, slurping and sucking and moaning against your cunt loudly— it’s almost as though he were doing it on purpose. 

“Taehyun, Taehyun, fuuuck…!” You can’t control your mouth— the sound of his name coming from your lips is enough to make Taehyun moan more against your pussy, cock rutting into the mattress below him as he listens to the sounds you make intently, smiling against your cunt at the sight of you finally breaking under him.

You feel dizzy— the way Taehyun fucks you with his tongue has you whining stupidly, his hand leaving your leg and coming to circle your clit as he continues to fuck you— after a moment, he decides he’s had enough of your squirming under him, his hands reaching to cup your ass before he’s pulling you back into him; your legs are falling over his shoulders, and his face is pressed against your pussy as he grants you no escape.

His grip is bruising on your skin; your thighs close around his head, but he pays no mind to it as he continues to lick at your pussy, gathering your arousal on his tongue before he’s looking back up at you with innocent round eyes, showing it off to you and forcing you to watch as he lets it drip back onto your cunt. 

It’s all so messy and overwhelming; you don’t even register the moment you cum on his tongue, your mind going blank and your body relaxing under his hold as he lets you ride out your orgasm, his tongue eager to lick up your release as he lets out soft hums against your cunt. 

“Taehyun,” you whimper out weakly, fingers weaving into his hair and tugging at it in order to get him to stop his ministrations— you can hear him complaining to you softly as he refuses to give in, the soft whine of his name only making him want to give you another orgasm— you have to tug harder on his hair to pull him from you, his lips and chin shining with your arousal as he smiles coyly at your reaction; his tongue darts out to lick his lips, wiping at his chin before he’s coming back up to hover over you. 

“What happened baby? Just wanted to make you feel good,” He tuts softly, grinning at the way you struggle to come down from your bliss. You don’t seem to realize the moment he’s become completely bare, the feeling of his cock poking at your inner thighs making your snap back to reality, feeling the tip smudge his precum all over your skin as he leans down to kiss you; it’s slow and messy, and he’s eager to push you lips apart and allow you to taste yourself, cradling your jaw as you feel him smile against your lips.  

“Why don’t you be quiet for a second? I like you more that way.” the way he frowns at your words has you breaking out into a teasing smile, running your fingers through his hair as you laugh softly— though it quickly falters the moment you feel him rubbing against your slit, his tip running up and down and catching on your clit as your body jolts from the sensation.

“Noona, do you hate me?” He pouts at you, watching as you fail to formulate proper words from the way his tip prods at your entrance, teasingly beginning to stretch you before he pulls out. This continues for a moment, and it’s clear he’s waiting for a response you clearly refuse to give him; frowning, he continues his motions, slowly rutting against your pussy as he looks down at you with sharp eyes, watching as you whine at him to stop teasing— he shakes his head, telling you to answer him, his voice sharp and low as he tightens his grip on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh in a way that has you stuttering your response out weakly.

“N—no.”

“Then why are you so mean to me?” He continues, tilting his head as he finally pushes the tip in; he watches your expression carefully, drinking up the way your brows furrow and your eyes become glossy. 

“I… your reactions are cute,” you admit, clenching around Taehyun tightly and watching the way he hisses at the feeling. 

“Yeah? They’re cute?” He repeats, straightening up and kneeling as he looks down at you. Your fucked out expression could make Taehyun come on the spot, but instead he grabs a hold of your waist, settling in between your legs and pulling you in close to him. 

He’s inside you with one swift push; the yelp you let out is embarrassing and you’re quickly slapping a hand over your mouth, eyes fluttering at the sensation of Taehyun fully inside you, thick and twitching wildly. Taehyun takes your hand away immediately; his fingers are lacing with yours, and he’s smiling sweetly as he looks down at you. 

“I think your reactions are cute too,” he’s moving after that, his thrusts slow and deep as he waits for you to adjust to his size. You’re holding tightly onto him as moans and whines fall from you, the sounds only fueling Taehyun further as he slowly begins to fuck you faster. 

“Feels nice, noona?” He groans, eyes trained on the way your tits bounce with his every thrust. The way you refuse to admit to him how good he’s making you feel has him rolling his eyes, letting go of your hand and gripping your hips before he’s bringing you back into him, bottoming out and rolling his hips slowly into your cunt as he feels the way you tighten around him, his cock taking in every flutter of your walls around him as he lets out pleased sighs. 

“What, too embarrassed to admit that it’s me making you feel good?” He asks, biting his lip as he concentrates on not coming too soon from the way you squeeze him, “You didn’t seem embarrassed when you kissed me in front of all those people earlier.”

“It was in the heat of the moment…” you answer back pitifully, unable to hide the way you can barely speak from the way he fucks you. 

“Hmm, okay. If you say so,” he hums, and you’re not given room to fight back as he goes back to fucking you— careless, pulling you back into him, enjoying your sounds with a wicked smile, unable to take his eyes off you for a moment. 

The moment his hand slips to rub circles on your clit, you feel your mind go blank— the sounds you make has Taehyun cursing under his breath, the feeling of your walls clenching around him and sucking him in driving him mad as he gets a hold of your thighs, pressing them against your body and putting you into a mating press as he continues to fuck you.

“Tae— Taehyun, ah, please,” you whine out, left defenseless to the way his hips slam against yours, losing his pace and letting out soft groans as he feels himself coming at the sound of your whines of his name— his cum is barely able to stay inside with the way he continues fucking you, cock rutting into your sensitive pussy as you whine at him to slow down. 

“Wanna see you do that again,” he mumbles, eyes flicking up to gauge your expression, “Like, a few more times.”

Your pussy tightens around him in response, and he has to bite his lip to suppress the moan that bubbled up his throat. After a second, he’s slowly fucking you again, feeling his cock harden inside you from the sight of his cum escaping you with every thrust.

You don’t know how many times he makes you cum after that— you might’ve blacked out halfway through, Taehyun’s obsession with making you come undone leaving you filled with cum and undeniably sore— he’s insatiable, leaving you a mess under him as you let him use you how he’d like, manhandling you into all sorts of positions as he continues to groan about how good you feel, reassuring you just one more, with your every whine, yet lying each time. 

You’re only able to think straight once you’ve found yourself pulled into Taehyun’s chest— the rise and fall of your bodies is relaxing, and you don’t even remember Taehyun cleaning the both of you up as you lie under his covers, the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around you very much welcomed. 

“So, did this also mean nothing to you?” Taehyun mumbles into the crown of your head, nuzzling into your scent as he struggles to stay awake. 

“No. This definitely meant something,” you say, equally as tired as you burrow further into the warmth of his chest. You can hear the deep rumble of his chuckles above you, his hands running across your back soothingly as he speaks. 

“And what did it mean?”

A pause. You think you both know what it means, but you won’t give him the satisfaction as you nip at his skin teasingly. 

“Means you’re okay, I guess.”

You refuse to admit that Taehyun has you wrapped around his finger— though it’s definitely reciprocated by the way Taehyun laughs at your comment, pulling you in even closer still and cooing jokingly that you looove me, hmm?

God, even now, he was insufferable.

But you kinda liked that about him. 

[undiscovered-horizon]

Rainy Season - Morpheus x Reader

[Spoilers for Brief Lives I guess?]

[MASTERLIST] | [Sandman-inspired playlist]

SUMMARY: Fed up with Dream's stubborn and at times childish attitude, you leave Dreaming. But when Morpheus's sorrow makes itself known, Matthew has to fetch you before the kingdom completely floods.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.7k

It’s a tumultuous morning in the Dreaming. Even if none of the dreams and nightmares are privy to the ongoing feud, they know something is wrong. It’s as though the air in the kingdom, the marrow of their bones, turned bitter last night. Their skin is crawling but the sun is shining as it did yesterday. They birds chirp the same song they had throughout centuries. And yet, against their better judgment, something is terribly out of place.

To be honest, you don’t even remember how all of this started but the damage is already done.

A frustrated scream ripples through your chest, "The world doesn't revolve around you!" You're fuming. There's only so much patience one person can hold and recently, Morpheus had proven himself exceptional at trying to reach its limit until he, unfortunately, succeeded today. "For someone who's supposed to know every thought ever entertained, you sure can not look past the tip of your own nose."

His eyes, cold and hurt, stare at you in utter confusion. Dark eyebrows furrow. "I do not know what you're expecting of me,” he states in an angry voice. It appears that he really does not understand the reason for your outrage. "I am not human, I am unable to look at the world as you do."

Of course he says that, you think to yourself. It seems to be his favorite line of defense. Dream of the Endless is a strange, eldritch creature. He doesn’t comprehend the world like a mortal does and, or some reason, he treats this fact of nature as an excuse not to try. At first, you thought it charming - to see the universe through the eyes of a creature you can barely begin to understand. Who wouldn’t? The strange wonder of the man in front of you made you seek his company again and again. Truthfully, there’s something poetic about it: the reason you’ve come back to him so many times might be the very reason you bid him farewell. For good.

"Good news, then: you don't need a cardiovascular system to exercise empathy.” Your sarcastic tone has an effect on Morpheus. He frowns, hurt by your words, only to grow angry that he’s so affected. Dream’s pride makes him want to not be influenced by your bitterness. Alas, he cares more than he’s willing to admit. "Not everything is about you, Morpheus, and until you realize that, I don't think we've got more to talk about. Goodbye."

Even after you shut the door behind you, the word echoes through the castle. The stone walls seem to whisper it back to Morpheus, rubbing the salt in his wound. How strange it is - to be haunted by somebody still alive. To be the king of dreams and feel hopeless. It would be funny if it didn’t make him want to be unmade.

A thunder rolls. A blue lightning splits the sky in two. Despite the lovely weather in the morning, it starts to rain in the Dreaming.

The storm doesn’t stop after a few hours nor does it cease after a few days. Black clouds cover the sky as they did four days ago. The only change is in the water level: the kingdom is flooded. When everyone thought the rain is bound to stop soon, no one minded much the rising tide. However, when the situation only worsened with no evidence that it’s going to improve in the near future, worried voices started to reach Lucienne. If the storm doesn’t cease in the next day or two, some parts of the Dreaming will share the fate of Atlantis.

If Morpheus knew he was being observed, he didn’t show it. Perhaps he doesn’t feel up for another confrontation. In any event, he remains still, standing against the balcony reiling, as his friends begin plotting:

"How is he?" Matthew whispers to Lucienne. "Has he moved from there at all? Ate something? Said anything?"

"That's three 'no's, I'm afraid,” she answers slowly. The librarian lets out a heavy sigh. "He's just dramatically standing there, wallowing in pity."

Dream really is 'just standing there’. Drenched. His hair and clothes are stuck to his pasty skin. It can’t be comfortable but it would appear that matters other than cosiness are on his mind at the moment. For the past few days, ever since you left, he hasn’t moved even a quarter of an inch. Truthfully, he looks about as alive as a marble statue, if monuments could appear excruciatingly miserable.

"Should we do something?" The raven continues. What he really wants to ask is 'What should we do?’ but Lucienne seems to catch the undertone of his words nonetheless.

"You could ask her to come back but no guarantee she'll want to,” she thinks out loud. "They've fought before but this time she looked really defeated."

Morpheus, although doesn’t need to breathe, sighs loudly. As he exhales, another lightning tears the sky apart.

"Alright, I'll try to convince her to talk to him again,” Matthew states. His worried voice makes him sound determined to have the two of you reconcile. "Hopefully, we'll be back before you need a canoe."

Lucienne doesn’t respond. As much as she doesn’t want to admit to her pessimism, she knows better than to have much hope in the matter of Dream’s love life.

Repetitive tapping on the window diverts your attention from the dishes you were washing. Seeing the black bird sitting on the outside windowsill, you quickly wipe your hands against the dishrag and jog to open the window.

"Matthew?" you ask in surprise.

He wastes no time pleading his case in a plaintive tone. "You gotta go back to him. Everything's gone to shit."

You furrow your eyebrows. Leaning against the wall, you cross your arms on your chest. "What do you mean?"

The raven hops closer to you. "It's been pouring nonstop since you left. He's just standing there, soaking wet and he won't talk to anyone."

It might sound sadistic but it’s a nice thought that he’s grieving your departure so severely. For what it’s worth, it means he’s not as blase as he likes to appear. Perhaps, Morpheus cares about you more than you’re even aware of.

"How bad is it?" you ask warily.

"How bad?!" Matthew screeches. "The House of Mysteries is so flooded, Abel is fishing."

It sounds like 'bad' is nothing more than an elegant euphemism. In his heartache, Morpheus is willing to let Dreaming decay and fall into partial ruin. If your accusation had been correct and Dream of the Endless truly is unable to care about anyone but himself, such a disaster would never have happened. A selfish ruler wouldn’t let his realm turn to rubble because of a broken heart. And if you’re more important than what he calls home, then…

"I'm assuming that's not a usual feature,” you give the raven a half-hearted response. The thoughts inside your head are in a painful turmoil, trying to lift the truth out of the indications.

"Yeah," he answers sarcastically.

Matthew glares at you in anticipation. Perplexed, you rub your arm without thinking much about it. Right, it's the mature and responsible thing to do but at the same time, why do you have to be the one to cave in every time you two fall out? If Morpheus cares for you as much as his dramatic show of pain and grief would suggest, shouldn’t it be him travelling across world and realms to reach you?

The raven cocks his head. Something about the look in his eyes changes as though his frustration has faded away or grown into desperation if not powerlessness. He’s tired and out of options.

"Alright, let's go," you say with a sigh. "But no promises. I still have pride and self-respect and he's still a stubborn..." you take a deep breath, "nevermind. Let's just go."

Miserable.

That's the only word that comes to your mind as you stare at him from afar. One would think that an entity of his sort can not be or look miserable but maybe this world is even stranger than you've thought. His clothes are drenched to the point of being see-through. Dark, once-tussled hair is now stuck to his face and neck. Dream's body looks even more stringy as his head is hanging low between his shoulders.

The rain is almost deafening. Your cautious, hesitant footsteps shouldn't be audible and yet Morpheus turns around to look at you when you come closer.

"I didn't think you'd come back," he says in a low, groggy voice. Dream's eyes, once blue and cold, are now red and unsettlingly vacant. Has he been crying? "What do you want?"

You take a deep breath. It was vain to expect him to welcome you with open arms. An eldritch being with a bruised ego and a broken heart could never make for a hospitable host. Even to those whom he misses the most.

"I still stand by what I said, it's just..." you hang your voice for a moment to find the proper words. Seeing him so broken by your fight makes some part of you want to renounce everything that lead to your argument. Anything just for him to be alright again. But the more reasonable side of you knows that such an action would only hurt both of you in the long run. "I admit, I could have said it in a more civilized way. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that harshness."

His gaze falls and Morpheus looks away for a moment.

Whether he's doing it consciously or not, the rainstorm ceases. Black clouds slowly drift away to uncover a clear, blue sky. Somewhere in the West, if there are cardinal directions in Dreaming, the sun is beginning to set. Despite the significant improvement, the air remains cold. A harsh wind nips at your drenched form. In a vain attempt to shield yourself from the discomfort of the weather, you put your arms around your torso. Still, your body trembles.

"Perhaps I should have put more effort into understanding your concern. I'm..." he turns silent for a second. His lips are apart but no sound is coming out of his mouth. Dream's hurt gaze meets yours. "Sorry," he whispers finally. Despite his voice being hardly audible, the weight of his confession is almost deafening.

"There's one more thing, Morpheus."

Those sad blue eyes stare at you in anticipation. The misery on his face makes you think that he's expecting to have his heart broken again, instead of mended.

A couple of grey clouds reappear above your heads. Oh no.

"I'm tired of always being the one to reach out," you confess. His gaze is too intense and you quickly look away from him. There's much on his mind. "No matter who's right or wrong, it's me who bridges the gap between us. Even if that angers me, I still do it. Every time. And I don't know what that says about me."

Your body trembles again but this time it doesn't go unnoticed by Morpheus. He, quite literally, pulls a coat out of thin air. Dream's movements are almost fearful as he cautiously places the garment around your shoulders.

"Perhaps in certain aspects, you are better than me," he answers quietly while fixing the coat to fit you better.

You know you're pushing your luck when you look at him again and ask a not-so-innocent question:

"You mean a 'better person'?"

"I'm not-" He bites his tongue just in time. Morpheus is not a person. Both of you are perfectly aware of it. But it was the mention of this very fact that had brought such disastrous rain to Dreaming. "Yes. A better person."

There's not much conviction in his words but there is, however, a silent promise to find it.

______

Now that I’m in mourning, I thought it fitting to finish reading "Brief Lives" and the bittersweetness of it felt all the more pronounced. Reading it prompted me to rewatch the show and long story short I’m kind of back in my Sandman feels.

[ieatkeyboard]

What Obey Me brothers do for Valentines day

Note: I have a love-hate relationship with Valentines day but it's a really cute holiday! Hope you guys have fun :] Warnings: Sappy love, fluff

Lucifer: - It's cannon he's been in many relationships so I don't think it's his first rodeo - He cleans up your room while you're at work. Washes your bedding+other laundry, makes your bed and folds your laundry, does some vacuuming. -He doesn't go through your drawers or anything just tries to make it a bit neater so you can come home and not worry about cleaning up - He gets you gifts based on things you like. If you like to make jewellery he'll get a couple kits from a hobby store to make together. If you like comfy clothes, he'll customise a set of pyjamas for you, etc. - He'll jot down notes of things you like all January. He makes sure to ask at the beginning of January what your dream Valentines day activity would be in hopes you forget about it over the month - I feel like he wouldn't ask for what he wants but he enjoys doing things together. He's a bit of a sap so he uses Valentines day to show it more. - I feel like he'd be a sucker for roses. Get him white and red roses with a little note and he'll never forget it. - He might get you some little things on Valentines day if it's on a week day and use the weekend to do more. - He'd love make dinner with you but he has your favourite restaurant on standby in case Beel walks in- - Watching movies together in his room cause his bed is bigger, taking your blankets and pillows into his room cause you're spending the night there. -He tears up a little at the end of the night, when you're sleeping in his arms. He hopes this is the most memorable Valentines day you'll ever have

Mammon: - He's a sap but in the "idk what I'm doing" way - Anything he knows about you leaves his brain - He gets you flowers and chocolate and sprays his cologne on a hoodie for you - He'll probably take you for a drive and show you all his favourite places (Spoiler. It's the places you first met, took your first date at, had all your firsts at) - He'll cry remembering how it started. how you ended up in his life and all the things you've been through - He takes you through a drive through and you eat in the parking lot. He has your shared playlist playing quietly in the background while you both talk about your days and your memories together - I feel like he wouldn't need anything. He just wants you - But if you got him a new sweater or watch he was looking at, he'd be extremely happy. - I also feel like he likes sunflowers

Leviathan: - He's never had a Valentine before, he also would be too scared to ask - He'd slip a note under your bedroom door that says "Wanna be my Valentine?" and when you agree he gets really happy but also nervous that you're kidding or are doing it out of pity - After much reassurance you set up plans together - You guys watch your favourite anime together, build the anime figurines Levi's been putting off together, play games, order food - You probably sneak out later to go walk to a convenience store to get snacks and drinks and go fuck around at a park - I think he'd buy your snacks for you and pick up a stuffy for you - He isn't overly sure what you like in the flowers and such department but he tries - I feel like he isn't a big flower person tbh

Satan: - Romantic slut man - He makes you a goody bag. He writes a love letter with references to the books you've read together, makes a kiss print sweater like the ones on tiktok (Got the idea from Asmo sending him stuff of what to do for you), got you the snacks you like, a gift card to the places you like and a lamb stuffy that reminds him of you - He likes lavender for sure - I feel like getting him a nice lavender room spray to help him relax while he reads, a cat stuffy, the book he's been dying to read but is always in use at the library and a new blanket would be perfect for him (I am absolutely projecting, and what) - Making a blanket for with him and watching the movie adaptations to the books you like is everything. Go to a cat cafe to get lunch before going shopping and putting the gift card he got you to use

Asmo: - Oh lordy lord - Bath bomb, rose petals, wine, your favourite show, the kiss print sweater but I feel like he'd do matching pants (You'll NEVER guess where he put the kisses!!!*REAL* *NOT CLICKBAIT*), spa day, a cute lunch and dinner date, SO MANY PICTURES - He wants to spoil you. Give you everything romantic he could possibly think of - He likes lilies. lilys? Idfk you get the idea - He also would love to make stuff together! I also feel like Asmo draws up a little map of all the places you had your firsts and put little Polaroid pictures of those days next to the spots - Taking him shopping and getting to go home, do a little fashion show, try all the new makeup he got one each other, make the teddy bear you got him smell like you, get him new blankets/candles/decorations for his room. He'd be so happy - I feel like as much as Valentines day is the day of love and he'd flirt a lot, he'd keep sex out of the plans (Unless you want it but than after the fact he'll complain about needing to catch up on the other plans he made lol) - He loves you for so much more than your body and especially cause he's the Avatar of lust he want to prove it's not just his sin getting in the way

Beel: - He gets you comfy clothes, snacks, and other stuff you like! If you have your ears pierced or have other piercings he'll get you cute jewellery, get you a necklace to match. If you like cats, he'll get you a sweater with cat ears and a cat stuffy - He worries about getting you flowers because if they smell good he'll want to eat them- - On the note he for sure likes edible flowers like hibiscus, rose, lavender and chamomile. I'd recommend getting him flowers in the way of getting flower flavoured things - He would appreciate ordering food from all the places you've been on dates so you can have a trip down memory lane while eating (He absolutely asked Asmo for that idea) - I feel like he'd ask his brothers and your friends for ideas cause as much as he knows you, you probably admit to like different or more stuff with friends - He asks you to show him all your favourite movies, current and childhood. He wants to know how you became the amazing person he fell in love with - He wouldn't want much for Valentines day. Candy and like I said, flower flavoured things would be enough for him. If you get him anything else please do not make it food related he will chew on it. Getting him new clothes and stuff based off his movie would make him really happy

Belphie: - Blanket, both of the fluffy and weighted variety. Cow stuffy. New sweater. -I would try and steer clear of stuff to make him sleep harder but he's a comfy kinda guy so it's hard - Star themed pyjamas and hair clips. Or bleaching his favourite constellations on a black hoodie. He'll wear it everywhere - I feel like he'd like white roses and dahlias - His ideal date would be getting food, going to the planetarium and talking, listening to music, looking at the stars, etc. And than going home and napping with his new blanket and in his new pyjamas. - He'd get you snacks, a hoodie and shorts that are your favourite colour, get you a new pillow that he'd test out first to make sure it was comfy. - And ofc he'd get you stuff you like. Your favourite perfume, stuff based on movies/shows/anime you like. - He'd get a little sappy and tell you he's so glad your still with him. That you're his

[loveriwoo]

~ ☆ boynextdoor reaction to you coming home late . . - 0t6 . . .

———————————★——————————

psh: comforts as usual. he tried calling, texting, all that sort, he just lays onto your shared bed, sinking in the mattress hoping you’d be home by the following minutes, he’d listen to your guys’ playlist to past time, suddenly hearing a knock at the door he sparks up sharp and gets out of bed “where have you been.. I missed you” his sleepy eyes say a lot, he just holds you tight rubbing your back softly, though he doesn’t question you much as you both were lead back into your bedroom to doze off.

lsh: he definitely overthinks— he’s wondering around the house hoping you’d pick up the call as he mumbles to himself, praying your safe, he leaves the door of the apartment unlocked but still can’t doze of to sleep not until he sees you’re right in-front of him and fine. As you open the door he immediately rushes out “are you okay?? Where have you been?!” He hugs you tightly not wanting to let go “I’m fine riri,,” he’s still a little worried but at ease, not wanting to bother you with questions you both go to bed, he’s just glad you’re okay.

mjh: very worried at first and it just slowly starts changing into being upset, just like riwoo, he will overthink it, thinking you might be in danger or so,, you try sneaking by using your keys but fail as the doors were locked, you rang the door bell and jaehyun didn’t take even 1 second to rush and answer “it’s so late..” he takes you inside “where were you, it’s nearly 3am” he visibly looks upset “I’m sorry jae,, I’m too tired to talk can we sleep?,,” you yawn hugging into his arms as he carry’s he to the bedroom, still upset but happy you’re safe with him.

hdm: as his impatient self, sitting on the couch, his foot taping every second that passes, taesan is NOT the patient kind, it annoyed him that you wasn’t showing up, taking matters into his own hands he gets up and out of the apartment now trying to look for you around your streets, as he spots you around the corner walking slowly looking tired as if you was leaping over your own steps, he slowly rushes to where you are “it’s freezing at this time” taking his jacket off to put over you, you look up at him “sorry taesan, I stayed behind on shift and —yawns— I’m really,, tired..” taesan puts his arm around you whilst you go back into the apartment ready to cuddle and sleep.

kdh: overprotective asl, he is MAD that you aren’t picking up any calls, he stands and waits right against the door as you knock and he opens the door you’re greeted with a harsh overprotective sounding “where were you. Why haven’t you looked at your phone and answered my calls.” , “baby my phon—“ he interrupted now closer to you “do you not understand how fucking worried I was??” You just look away and try going to your bedroom but he holds you still “you know I just care for you..” he looks at you sharply, you sigh “ I’m sorry leehan but can we please go to bed, am tired..” nodding as he follows you behind to go get some rest too.

kwh: cannot stay up late even though it was a life or death situation- he waits infront of the door, phone in his hand hoping his messages go through but slowly and surely his eyes close up on him, opening the apartment door as you step in you’re greeted with couch-sleeping woonhak, his phone right next to him on your contact, not wanting to wake him up you kiss his cheek and get him a blanket as you go pass out onto the bed and get sone rest.

(Psh = park Sungho)

(lsh = lee sanghyeok/riwoo)

(Mjh = Myung jaehyun)

(Hdm = Han dongmin/taesan)

(Kdh = Kim donghyun/leehan)

(kwh = Kim woonhak)

[hope I didn’t make much spelling mistakes, and if I did I do apologise ㅠㅠ]

[luveline]

so first I would just like to say I love your writing and if it's alright I have a request Sirius x reader who comes off as confident and flirty but the moment Sirius does anything about it they just shut down and their face goes red

thanks for reading and your request!! ♡ late 90s AU,

cw reader can physically blush ! 

"See you later, handsome," you say cheerfully, hand on the doorway, head poking into the living room. 

Sirius looks up from his hand of cards, knowing you're talking to him, and glares. "Where do you think you're going?" 

"I have work in the morning, I have to go sleep. I know you'll miss me, Siri, but these things come to pass." 

James snorts a laugh and Remus reaches out to steady his drink seconds before Sirius knocks the table standing up. Dark hair falling into his eyes, Sirius climbs over his friends' knees and meets you at the door. "Come on, I'll walk you to your car," he says. 

Your pulse jumps in response to his sudden closeness, but thankfully you retain your cool. Together, you walk out of Lily's flat, down the metal steps, footsteps grinding rust and popping puddles. You'd hoped he'd speak first, but Sirius seems content to walk in the quiet with you. 

"Did you like the CD?" you ask. 

"I did. Hey, the girls… well, Marl said you had to do that on a computer, and it must've taken you ages." 

You burned him a playlist of love songs, some subtle, most less so. It was a joke, sure, but a joke that took hours and hours of time and a lorry load of patience. You'd drawn hearts all over the slip cover, and wrote his name in perfect font on the CD itself. 

"It didn't take that long. I'm great with technology," you brag. 

Sirius smiles at you. "I know you are, dove." 

Your foot slips off of the pavement. Strong hands are quick to save you, curling around your arms bruisingly tight and pulling you back up again on proper footing. "Careful," he murmurs, sounding tender. 

You feel your heart again, the contiguities you share burning hot and the space between you impossibly small. You look up into his face, Sirius looking down, the perfect curve of his bottom lip like a siren call that pulls you in, yanks you near enough, your brain begging you to ask him even as you begin to melt. 

Sirius frowns. "What, did you hurt yourself?" 

"I– no," you explain, a mumbled stammer you know you will never, ever live down. 

Sirius turns smug slowly. You watch it happen in horror, the inching of his eyebrows, the way his chin tilts ever so slightly upward. He looks down his nose at you, his hands relaxing where they'd been melding the soft fat of your upper arms, fingertips meandering down the length of your arm to your cold hand. 

"You aren't embarrassed, are you? You only tripped."

You shake your head uselessly, unable to speak. There's flirtation, and then there's this, the reality that Sirius could kiss you, that you want him to, and that he might want it more. 

"You're blushing," he says. 

"Am I?" you ask morosely. 

He raises a hand to your cheek, feeling the heat of your flushed skin in his palm with the practised ease of someone who's pictured doing it a hundred times before. 

"And you're awfully quiet." 

A breath shudders out of you without permission, eyebrows lightly creased. You're waiting to see what he'll do. 

"Relax," he says finally, the intense cadence of his voice replaced by a sweeter concern, "it's alright. I didn't mean to make you so nervous, dove. I was teasing, but… I think I might've gone too far."

You shake your head. His hand slides down to your neck. 

"No? Good. Let's get you back to your car in one piece, yeah? It's a good thing I came, really, or the next time I thought about kissing you I might have to picture you with two missing front teeth." 

Your laugh comes out choked. Sirius sighs fondly, nudging you in the direction of your car. 

"Come on. I won't tell anyone you're a fraud, by the way." His hand settles at the small of your back. "Your secret is safe with me." 

You'd say thanks if you had the wherewithal, but his constant touching distracts any sense. 

[wanderingblindly]

Do you have any glimpses into your work, snippets or commentary, completed or WIP, you'd want to share? I hope you're doing as well as one can right now.

- Snippet Anon

hello my darling snippet anon!! sending you some massive hugs right now, i'm pretty sure we could all use them 🫂 before the rug got pulled out from under, so to speak, i planned to work on the third chapter of october birds. But. i think listening to that playlist would send me into A State, so I've started working on something short and sweet and fluffy instead :) here's the (unedited) intro!

Oscar Piastri's Accidental Guide to Saying "I Love You"

Oscar's been acting strangely.

It's not a bad strange, per se, and it's not to say that Lando doesn't always find Oscar a bit weird – lovingly, of course, but look at the guy. But, as he finishes pulling a fresh shirt over his head, as he hears the sound of Oscar pacing back and forth across his living room, he wonders if something might be… amiss.

Oscar's not much of a pacer, for one. That's a lot of energy to expend, and he not a guy that has it in excess during breaks. Lando smiles to himself as he remembers how he described it, looking at him with a deadly serious face over dinner:

"Maybe if I had a KERS, but, you know, not a car, am I?"

"Used to pretend you were though." Lando giggles, not even trying to hide it.

Oscar groans, letting his fork drop so he can bury his face in his hand. "Don't say you watched my mum's –"

"Did you really used to scream like an engine, mate?"

"So now I'm your mate?"

"Unless you wanna be a car, yeah."

Something falls in the living room, startling Lando out of his recollection. Ruffling his hair back to into shape, he steps out of the bedroom in search of Oscar. His unusually pacey Oscar.

"Y'alright?" He asks, poking his head around the corner to first, not wanting to scare Oscar if he's worked himself into some sort of state.

Oscar looks up at him, standing from picking up his phone. Odd for Oscar to drop something, Lando thinks, reflecting on his chronically steady hands. "Yeah, why?"

[kaminocasey]

In the Tide

Summary: A soft moment is shared between two commanders on a beach.

Pairing: Jedi!Reader x Wolffe

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Partial nudity? Soft!Wolffe, reader gets self conscious about body, Jedi!Reader

WC: 1.5K

A/N: I didn't write this with a part 2 particularly in mind, but lemme know if I should write one! Obviously this isn't for everyone, and that's alright. <3 :) (pics from pinterest)

TAGLIST FORM │Wolffe Playlist

For the first time in weeks, you get to feel the sun kiss your skin once again. It’s been so long since you’d gotten to bask in any sort of sunlight. And now, since you have a few days of rest, you’ve gone trekking through the woods until you’re met with an endless blue on blue. A cloudless blue sky and an ocean so turquoise, you could cry. What a gorgeous sight. 

Closing your eyes and reaching out into the force around you, you make sure that you’re safe and there are no threats, but nothing makes itself known. As you drop your pack, you pull out a blanket and set it down on the warm sand, kicking off your boots first, smiling at the feel of it trickling between your toes. Then, you take off your robes, and your under clothes until you’re in just your undergarments. As you start walking toward the ocean, you feel a familiar presence and you stop, turning toward him.  

“Commander?” Wolffe stands in front of you, eyeing your nearly naked form. 

You cross your arms, slightly self conscious. “Oh, Commander Wolffe. You found me.” 

He notices the change in your body language and looks away. 

“Is everything okay? Am I needed back at base?” You ask, prepared to throw your robes back on. 

“No, ma’am. I just… wanted to make sure you were safe.” He stands awkwardly with his arms at his side, but his hands fidget slightly, like he’s not sure what to do. 

“Oh. That’s nice of you. There’s nothing threatening on this beach.” You smile, teasingly. “Except perhaps yourself.”

You don’t miss the slight huff of a laugh that he’d never let anyone other than his brothers and Master Plo Koon hear. It’s a nice sound and you like his smirk. 

“Did Plo send you?” You start to wiggle your toes in the sand again. 

“No, he didn’t. I came on my own.” He looks at you again and you can’t help but grin.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you might care about me, Wolf- Commander.” You tease, sitting down on the blanket and pat the spot next to you.

He looks back toward the treeline, perhaps to make sure no one else was coming, and then starts to unclick his plastoid armor. Slightly entranced, you can’t seem to look away. And when you look up at his face, you find his eyes never leaving your face. A heat that’s hotter than the sun creeps through your veins at the realization. 

Your mouth goes dry the moment he strips down to just his briefs, causing you to quickly look away toward the horizon as he sits next to you on the blanket. You’d never seen a clone without clothes before, but you know you’re never gonna forget how toned Wolffe is. How his tanned skin practically gleams in the bright sun. 

There’s always been a sort of trust between you and Wolffe. He didn’t find you incompetent like a lot of the Jedi. He’d never say as much, but he didn’t trust many of them. Perhaps just you, Master Plo Koon, and Master Kenobi. But you always felt there was possibly something more than trust between the two of you. It could just be in your head, though. 

“I wish I could see this every day.” You murmur, crossing your legs. 

“I hate the ocean.” Wolffe tells you, honestly.

“Why’s that?” You ask, looking at him.

His eyes, one brown, one cybernetic, are focused on yours. 

“Reminds me of Kamino.” He shrugs.

You suppose that’s understandable. You’d only heard rumors of the extensiveness that the higher rank clones had to go through. 

“So, swimming with me is off the table?” You ask, smiling. 

His face is serious as ever as he looks out at the calm waves. “Not safe.” 

“Can you see that with that eye of yours?” You tease. 

He smirks, amused. “Sure.” 

You let out a disappointed huff and fall back on the blanket, letting the warm sun wash over you. When you open your eyes, landing on Wolffe, you notice him staring at your bare stomach. Immediately self conscious, you cross your arms over your stomach but his hands stop you. 

“Don’t.” He murmurs, softly. 

“What?” Your mouth goes dry again.

“Don’t cover up…” He whispers, placing your wrist to your side. “You don’t need to do that. Not with me.”

“O-okay.” You can’t look away from him now. 

You sense desire roll over him and if you weren’t already laying down, you’re pretty sure the full force of his desire would be enough to knock you over. Does he know that you can sense these things? Surely with Plo Koon as his general, he does. 

“Wolffe?” You whisper, softly. 

He’s looking at your lips now and the absolute fire that was coursing through your veins only moments ago makes its way much, much lower. With parted lips, you reach up for Wolffe, ghosting your fingers down his muscular bicep. He stops your hand with his own and holds it there. 

You’re not sure how long you stare at each other like that. Can he sense the desire radiating from you? Does he know you well enough by now? You hope so.

A beeping comes from both your comms, indicating you’re needed back at base. With a breathless, yet annoyed, huff, Wolffe lets go of your hand and pressing the button on both of your comms to let them know you both got the message. 

He stands up and hands you your clothing, turning around to give you a moment of privacy while he also dresses and clicks his armor into place. The intimate moment between you is long gone as you realize you have to go back to reality. 

As you pack the blanket back up, grabbing your pack, you look back out at the ocean for another moment and when you turn around, you find Wolffe staring at you again. 

“Wha-” You start but he cuts you off by running his hand around your lower back to pull you against himself. 

You look up into his eyes and realize he’s waiting for you to tell him to stop, but you want this just as bad, if not more. 

“Please…” You whisper, glancing at his lips.

That’s all the confirmation he needed as he gently brushes his lips over yours. It’s not exactly what you were expecting. You were expecting quick roughness. Like his fighting style. This is… leisurely soft. Like he has all the time in the world to do this. You wish you did. Finding yourself kissing him back, you drop your pack back into the sand and wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him. To this moment. 

“I’ve… wanted to do that for some time now… Commander.” He smiles ever so slightly. 

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking about it as well.” You smile up at him, cupping his cheek, softly. 

He rests his head against yours for just a moment and then lets go of you. “We should head back.” 

You nod in agreement and pick your pack up as he picks his helmet up out of the sand, dusting it off and tucking it under his arm as you start your trekk back through the woods. 

Then, Wolffe surprises you again. He offers his free arm and you can’t help the little flip in your stomach as you hide your smile and take it, wrapping your hands around the cool plastoid. How is it so cool after being in the sunlight? 

You want to ask him so many things. But you know he’s a man of few words, and you definitely don’t want to annoy him. 

“Can I ask you something?” He surprises you again and asks. 

“Oh. Of course.” You nod. 

“Did you know?” He asks, looking down at you.

“Know what?” You give him a confused look.

“About my feelings for you?” He stops to stand in front of you. 

“I um… had my suspicions… in a way.” You smile up at him, taking his hand. 

He nods. “I’m not used to this…” 

“I know. It’s okay. I wouldn’t change a thing about you, Wolffe.” You start walking back toward the base, seeing it just through the treeline. 

He falls in step next to you again. “Maybe… we could continue our moment later tonight?” 

“I’d like that very much.” You can’t seem to stop smiling.

When you return to base, you’re needed immediately in the briefing tent and yet… your mind can’t help but linger on that moment with Wolffe on the beach and what tonight could hold for the two of you. 

TAGS: @twistedstitcher27 @rebel-finn @rexandechosandwich @madameminor @dumfanting @rain-on-kamino @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @brynhildrmimi @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @padawancat97 @hated-by-me @sleepingsun501 @idledreams @redheadgirl @themcuwriter @ashotofspotchka @sunshinesdaydream @crosshairsimp73 @ariadnes-red-thread @rosmariner @heyitsaloy @starstofillmydream @high-ct5555 @echos-girlfriend @sleepywych @nekotaetae @justanothersadperson93 @aconstructofamind @book-of-baba-fett @chopper-base @palliateclaw @501st-rexster @dead-poolz @nahoney22 @where-is-my-mind-tho @jediknightjana @erishimoon @witching3 @queen-of-many-fandoms @wizardofrozz  @burningfieldof-clover @rebelsriley

[boop-le-snoot]

| existing masterlist post here |

kinktober 2024

Bun writes? sure hope it does! After a long hiatus, I crawl out of my hole... to present (written) hole...

I don't think the concept of kinktober needs an introduction, so without further ado, planned story list under the cut. As I post throughout the month, the list will become clickable. As always, comments and likes are welcome but reblogs will land you squarely in reader heaven. My ask box is open to scream and be as feral as you want to. I accept hate mail too, but it has to be witty, none of that weak ‘kys’ shit.

the word ‘kink’ in the ‘tober is loosely used. I mostly mean to shrug off some of the accumulated plotbunny brainrot from my drafts. each fic has a song from my writer playlist, which I am sharing because I love hard rock & heavy metal and you should love em, too. I did illegal drugs while writing this, btw. In case you wanted to read something written by a Cool Person™®©..

some of these might read as iffy on consent but they are not intended as such & everything here is implied to be wanted and fully consensual, including any sadism, masochism and mindfuckery.

‼️ blank blogs interacting with this post, the fics and my blog will be blocked on sight ‼️

Oct 1 | rop!Adar | daddy kink

Oct 2 | Thranduil | aphrodisiac

Oct 3 | rop!Gil-Galad | restraints

Oct 4 | Loki | temperature play

Oct 5 | Thor | exhibitionism

Oct 6 | Tony Stark | innocence kink + roleplay

Oct 7 | lotr!Celeborn | concubinage, collars

Oct 8 | rop!Gil-Galad | deepthroating

Oct 9 | ginger twink Sauron | crack

Oct 10 | Dr. Strange | medical kink

Oct 11 | lotr!Elrond & lotr!Celeborn & lotr! Thranduil | orgy (foursome?) & objectification

Oct 12 | goldsick!Thorin | rough sex & lingerie

Oct 13 | lotr!Galadriel & Celeborn | petplay

Oct 14 | Lindir | coming untouched, overstim

Oct 15 | Feren | ‘secretly’ in public

Oct 16 | Doc Ock | tentacles

Oct 17 | Thranduil | femdom, worship

Oct 18 | rop!Adar | masochism, psychological horror

Oct 19 | Negan | age gap, leather & lace

Oct 20 | Bruce Banner | breathplay

Oct 21 | Stucky | spitroasting

Oct 22 | Glorfindel | hair kink (weird noldor edition)

Oct 23 | Tony Stark | armour

Oct 24 | Thranduil | spanking & anal

Oct 25 | free square. will freestyle something

Oct 26 | poly!avengers | birthday gangbang

Oct 27 | Fili & Kili | freeuse

Oct 28 | to be announced...

Oct 29 | ironstrange | daddy kink w/rich men

Oct 30 | to be announced...

Oct 31 | Loki | spooky surprise!